Time Travelers: The Choosing
by Salkiethia
Summary: 100 years after the final book in the Valdemar series, Valdemar's borders have shrunk, the land is just beginning to heal and a new Herald-to-be is Chosen. COMPLETE.
1. Synchronized Panic

**Heyla!  
**So, this is my first Valdemar fic, and I'm hoping that it's a good read. The idea bit me one day and I just had to get it out. I know the title is lame, and the first part doesn't actually have anything to do with THIS particular story, but it should with the next which is currently a WIP.

* * *

He hurt. That was all he was aware of – the pain. It sunk into his bones, became such a deep part of him that he knew it would never go away.

A light touch on his arm made him lift his head.

"Kev?" Sonya asked uncertainly. "Are you going to be all right?"

He nodded a confirmation; no use in explaining that his body was just about through with being beaten to a pulp. It wouldn't change anything, and – technically speaking – Sonya shouldn't care. And since she did, that opened up a whole other bag of worms he really didn't want to face.

"Ready to go again?" she asked him, smiling a bit.

_No_, he wanted to reply, but instead, he nodded mutely, not trusting his voice not to waver in speech. Bad enough that his whole body was resonating like a string on a badly tuned gittern.

"Then you're up," Sonya urged, pulling him partly forward, then giving a friendly shove to his mid-back.

He refrained from groaning in pain. Barely.

He did grunt a little, but she didn't say anything, so he entered into the too bright arena, lifting his faithful dirk high as he did so.

"_Whether ye win or lose, alus give 'em a spectacle,_" he remembered the old weapon's trainer saying.

"_Keep yer head high an' stare 'em down like they was dogs, 'stead people. Works nine times outta ten."_

And so it had, Keighven reflected, staring across the arena at his battlefield opponent. But, unluckily for him, this one seemed to be one of those one-in-tens who wasn't at all intimidated. In fact, he bared what was left of his teeth in a feral growl, lifting his own knives and the crowd roared its approval.

_So it's to the death, then_, Keighven thought cynically. _Although, maybe it's better that way._

The life of a gladiator was difficult. Good, fair masters were hard to come by. Kev felt he had been reasonably lucky in that regard. Lord Vernos wasn't a kind man, per se, but he was strictly fair even to his fighters. No sense in letting an investment go to waste, after all.

Keighven studied his opponent from within the confines of his helmet. The other fighter was about the same age as he, but much more powerfully built. Corded muscles snapped and flexed as easily as rippling water under the bronze gladiator's skin.

Then the drums sounded and Kev went into a low crouch, his dirk and dagger held at the ready point.

The crier called out the time. _One…Two…Three!_

Then it was a match.

From the first, Keighven knew regular combat would be hopeless. He was much too small to make any effective damage on his burly, well-muscled opponent. So instead, he stuck to the hit-and-run tactics the old trainer, Dominik, had been attempting to pound into him for the last few sennights.

Forward, back. Snake strikes.

The other fighter lunged forward, his twin weapons missing Kev by inches. He could hear the crowd roaring up in the stands and his heart was pounding. A tentative strike at the other gladiator had proved earlier that, despite his bulk, they were evenly matched in terms of speed.

That was a problem. No one was supposed to be as fast as Kev in the ring. It was his own real way of defending himself – by getting his opponent exhausted enough so he could overpower him before closing in for the win. Or the kill.

A knife came down into his view from out of nowhere and he stumbled back, distracted by the weapon.

Then he was fighting for his life, using every trick Dominik had ever taught him, just to stay alive.

His opponent had him in a corner and was wearing on him. The crowd knew it and their buzzing steadily grew louder.

He felt a rushing in his ears and thought furious, _Damn if you're going to take this away from me!_ Then he lunged forward, knowing with dead certainty that _this_ was the move that would end the fight one way or another, and also knowing – without knowing how he knew – that the other gladiator was _not_ expecting it.

He stopped short of a killing blow, his weapons' blades resting casually on either side of the gladiator's neck.

Then the whistle sounded, and he pulled back, grateful that this one's master didn't think a loss warranted a death. He _hated_ killing like that.

Just as he was pulling away, he felt the familiar touch of mage power on him, stealing his ability to make himself move and his body spun of its own accord to plunge both dirk and dagger in the downed man's body. Then his body was his own again, and he pulled out his weapons, struggling to cover his revulsion at what he'd just been forced to do. It had happened many times before, but repeating something so terrible never made it any easier.

Slowly, aware of all the aches in his muscles, Kev retired back under the arch, pausing momentarily on his way out to raise the black-handled dirk that was his signature weapon up to the bellowing crowd.

They were screaming and chanting something – whether it was his name or if they were calling for more blood, he wasn't sure. He didn't want to know.

Sonya was waiting for him when he came back in. She handed him a soft towel wordlessly. He accepted it with a nod of gratitude and wiped his face off. Ordinarily, a bout like that wouldn't have given him cause to sweat, no matter how large or fast his opponent. But this was nearly ten exchanges in, and in an earlier one, he'd been hit rather hard.

_I'm _still_ not sure how I avoided being killed by the bastard,_ Keighven thought tiredly as he settled himself down on a wooden bench. _I have unholy luck, I guess._

"You were really lucky," Sonya whispered from the doorway, an unconscious echo of Kev's own thoughts.

Keighven looked up in surprise. "I thought you'd left," he blurted out, then blushed a bit. _Yes, fantastic. First get injured, second make a fool of yourself. What will be your third brilliant move of the day?_

Sonya didn't look upset by his outburst though. On the contrary, she seemed nearly amused by it. She moved from leaning on the door to standing just within the room. Part of Keighven wished she'd just go away, but another part desperately wanted her to stay.

"You were really lucky," she repeated, shaking fiery locks out of her eyes. "Nathaniel's boy's knife could have taken out an eye—"

_As if I need a reminder of how dangerous this life is,_ Kev thought to himself. _When more than half of us don't live to see our twenty-fifth year…_

There was a general commotion in the stands outside and he heard someone yell something. A moment later, another gladiator, a young fighter, came bursting in, screaming fit to burst.

"_It's a bleedin' 'Erald!"_

Nanotak swept into the room and roughly pulled Kev to his feet. The burly man ran the gladiator matches, let people bet on them, and traded in slaves as well.

Keighven wasn't positive, but he thought that those things – _some_ of those things, anyway – might be bending the laws a bit. Or maybe even blatantly flaunting them.

And, even without technically residing _in_ Valdemar, the Gladiator's Coliseum – as well as its training center – was on the disputed/neutral lands, which meant that Heralds held _some_ jurisdiction.

And if Nanotak wanted them out, then the swarthy man would have his way.

Sonya followed after him, and he could feel the concern radiating off of her. Why she would be concerned, he had no idea. Unless it happened to be that she was afraid for someone.

Maybe that was it.

The general commotion hadn't died down any, but it was a bit more organized with Nanotak barking orders like the ex-officer he was, and everyone immediately trying – and for the most part succeeding – to comply.

He was rushed out of the building half-changed. His leather jerkin was still sweat soaked and in the slight, pre-winter chill, it became a cold article indeed, very quickly.

Everywhere he could feel people panicking as they ran back and forth and the word _Herald_ echoed ominously among them.

Keighven had gotten separated from Sonya a time ago, and he stood out in the cold, not walking but simply staring in numb shock as events unfolded.

A white clad rider on a huge horse jumped the gate. The panic that had taken the mob of people doubled.

Keighven felt the anger coming from the rider, but had no time to wonder why as his own jerkin was snatched and he was dragged out of range by one of the trainers.

"Get outta here, lad," the old man wheezed. "It'll go hard if that 'un catches ye."

Keighven thought about protesting, but then he was swept up in another fleeing mob, this one with purpose and a destination, so instead of fighting, he bowed to the inevitable and let himself be carried off by the flood of bodies.

The last he saw of the white clad rider – the _Herald_ – was him leaping off that great white horse of his, sword drawn and screaming something.

Then he was out of eyeshot and hearing range, packed with a motley bunch composed mostly of small prizefighters, not gladiator. There was no one in the group Kev recognized, and he allowed himself to marginally relax after he had assured himself of that fact. If he'd never fought any of these men personally before, it was highly unlikely any of them would have a personal grudge against him, making it safer. Not _safe,_ but safer.

Once their panicked flight like a bunch of wild horses spooking at the scent of blood had carried itself to an end, they all gathered together. No one spoke. The empty terrain looked the same in all directions. Kev wondered how many of them spoke Trader tongue. He got his answer a moment later when one of them said, to no one in particular, "Well, now what?"

There were a few ideas, all of them implausible at best, suicidal at worst. Then someone chimed in, "Why don't we just go to Valdemar?"

_That_ set off a chorus of bellowing laughter. One of the older fighters – the rare breed that had lived past twenty-five – clapped the younger man who had spoken on the back.

"Lad," he said in a voice heavily accented by some foreign tongue, "No one _goes_ t' Valdemar. Ye saw th' panic when th' 'Erald showed. Nah – that place's best left 'lone. 'Eralds don't take nicely t'our kind."

There were a few nods and general mutterings of agreement.

"M'lord Bonden said –" the lad continued stubbornly.

"Tcha," the elder fighter interrupted. "'S _that_ where ye be getting' yer misplaced notions? _Bonden?_"

There was subdued laughter. It wasn't wise to ridicule a master, and even here, presumably miles away from anyone, it still seemed safer to stick to code than to violate it.

"Bonden alus threatened t' pack 'is things an' hie off t' Valdemar," one of the braver (or perhaps more foolhardy) ones commented.

"That's cause 'e was born there," the leader stubbornly argued. "'Course, it 'ardly matters," he added with a harsh laugh, "'cause even if 'e _wanted_ t' go back, they'd ne'er let 'im in again."

Keighven listened with interest.

"Whyfore?" one of the men called out.

"Well, ye see, 'e gotsed 'isself inter some licks o' trouble back when 'e was in Valdemar. 'S'why 'e ended up _here_, innit?" In nervous excitement, his voice was becoming even more heavily laden with accent so Kev couldn't quite discern exactly what "M'lord Bonden" – _not_ a name he knew – had done to warrant apparent banishment from Valdemar.

The talking continued but the group started moving again, mostly to keep warm, not because they had any particular destination in mind.

Eventually talk wandered away from Valdemar, though the subject had occupied the group for a few candlemarks at least.

Snow began to fall again, and a few of the younger fighters – boys as young as eight and ten – were shivering with cold. One really tiny lad was turning purple. Kev pulled him aside and wordlessly stripped off his own tunic for the boy.

After a moment's hesitation, the wide-eyed child took it, but then blurted, "What about you?"

Kev shrugged. "What _about_ me?" he replied, but instead of letting the child reply to that, he settled himself on the opposite side of the group, alternately flexing his muscles and running in short spurts to keep warm.

Without any shirt on, he was _cold.

* * *

_

They stopped at what looked to be an abandoned house. It had been many candlemarks since they'd fled. Keighven stared at the place. Here in the middle of nowhere – it was like a godsend.

The self-appointed leader of the group – and the one who had declared Lord Bonden to be an idiot, several times – looked at the place with a careful eye.

"Waystation," he grunted eventually.

It seemed to be an explanation of sorts for about a quarter of the group.

The rest still looked confused; like Keighven, "Waystation" meant nothing to them.

"Uh, Garth?" one of the youngest fighters ventured timidly. "What _is_ a Waystation?"

Keighven mentally cataloged the name, storing it alongside the man's face. He never forgot a face, or a name once the two were attached. From listening in on the conversations, he'd learned the names of about half the group and quite a few of their masters' names as well.

Garth gave the youngster an appraising look before answering. "Waystation's one o' them things 'Eralds use," he said.

At the sudden looks of apprehension that shot around, he added, in a slightly louder voice, "They sleeps in 'em when they's on duty, like. Usually they's got foodstuffs in 'em as well."

Well, well. Another interesting bit Kev added to his steadily increasing repertoire of knowledge. Assuming Garth was correct, of course, and not just spinning tales. Though, Keighven had reasoned, he really didn't need to come up with these exotic tales. Heralds were just about exotic enough by themselves.

They all fit in the Waystation, but just barely. Kev found himself plastered against the wall, lying literally back-to-back with another fighter. There _had_ been food of a sort in the station – a kind of oat that was very filling.

There had been a whole chest full of the stuff, but between them, all twelve of the fighters had eaten up every last grain.

At least the place was warm when packed with bodies. There was a fireplace, but no wood to start a fire with.

Keighven lay awake for a long while, just listening as the talking died down and then the simple breathing patterns created a gentle hum.

He began to drift off into sleep and only fought it half-heartedly. He was exhausted, mind and body, from the strange events of the day. Finally he slept.

The low sound of voices woke him. He came awake all at once, instead of slowly, but refrained from making any changes to show he was conscious.

"What's a Waystation doin' way out in the middle o' nowhere?" a low voice asked. Kev recognized the speaker as being Jet, one of the smaller prizefighters – _not_ a gladiator – belonging to Lord Raedlin.

"Damn if I know," Garth's voice replied. "Valdemar's boundaries started changin' a few decades ago, so that might account fer it. Coulda been that this usta be an 'Erald's circuit at one point."

"Are we near Valdemar then?" Jet inquired.

He sounded like he wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.

"We're nearer than I'd like," Garth admitted after a moment. "It's hard t' judge by the terrain, like, 'cause it nearly all looks the same, but I'd say we're near th' end o' th' disputed territory by th'old 'Olderkin lands."

"Holders?" Jet sounded surprised. "I thought we were further west than that!"

"Nah," Garth said. "This is near 'Olderkin land, I'm sure o' it. If we were too much further west, we'd be in th' Comb, 'steada being on big 'ills."

Keighven closed his ears after that. He had a lot to think about now, and he let his mind mull recent events – and discoveries – over.

Ages later, he heard the rest of the fighters rising, and what had been a near dead silent room minutes before quickly became as noisy as the innards of a tavern.

Keighven slipped outside to relieve himself. There wasn't any real private place, but a set of bushes provided a convenient location. His skin burned with the cold, and by the time he got back in, he was rubbing away goose bumps that had collected on his arms. No one seemed to be in a particularly foul mood that morning, probably on account of there having been no sign of masters showing up. They wouldn't dare to hope for freedom _quite_ yet, but another day without having to battle was something to celebrate.

Keighven wondered if they would stay here another night or not. None of the other looked all that eager to be moving on. No one seemed to have thought of food either, which was much higher on Kev's personal list of priorities. He hadn't seen anything in all of yesterday's forced march, and he doubted that he would have had luck even if he had seen something. He was a warrior – a gladiator – not a hunter. The tools were all wrong.

Unless an elk or deer stood to fight instead of fleeing, he couldn't see any way of taking down prey.

Swords were more useful in destroying people than anything else.

Once again, he made a journey outside, but this time it was for an invigorating run that left his muscles warm and kept all but his hands from feeling frozen. Running in snow was hard work, and it had snowed quite a bit during the night. Keighven easily worked up a sweat. By the time he returned to the Waystaion, everyone else was gathered inside. Training like he'd become accustomed to was not required in the lower level fighters. It was a pity – even if the place would have reeked of sweaty bodies after thy all ran, it still would have provided a constructive outlet for excessive energy.

Garth and a few of the others gave him strange looks when he came inside, still breathing a bit hard and sweat quickly cooling on his body. He began to chill and realized that working up a sweat probably hadn't been the brightest idea.

"When are we leaving?" he asked, the first he'd spoken since yesterday when he'd given his shirt to one of the children.

Garth shook his head. "We aren't," the elder fighter replied, his eyes glinting dangerously when Keighven opened his mouth to make an argument. "We don't got nowhere else _t'_ go, first," the man said, running roughshod over Kev's attempt to speak. "An' second," he added, holding up a hand to forestall argument, "even if we _did_ have somewhere t' be haring off t', we're waiting fer a _sign_."

"A sign." Keighven couldn't believe his ears. He knew most gladiators – and prizefighters in general – were superstitious rats, but he'd never encountered something like this before.

"A sign," Garth reiterated, his eyes glowing with some mad light.

Keighven winced and looked away. "Like what?" he asked, not at all interested, but knowing that the question was expected.

"Thas jest it, see?" Garth crowed. "Thasa beauty of it, innit? We _don't know_ what, 'xactly it's gonna be, but we know thery'll be a sign and it'll tell us where t' go."

Kev shook his head to himself. Superstitious bullocks. He needed to use a more roundabout approach. "What are we going to do for food?"

"Boys'll hunt," Garth said dismissively, shaking his hand. "They'll get sommat."

Keighven shook his head again. "You're mad," he accused.

Garth eyed him. "I'm not th'one runnin' 'isself dead sweatin' midwinter," he pointed out.

Kev didn't justify that with a reply. Instead, he slipped out the door, figuring that he could keep running somewhere and maybe find another Waystation and then they'd _have_ to move. There was no more food…

Later on he'd wonder how much his head had affected him. For now though, he took off at a steady, ground-eating lope, soon leaving the Waystation behind. He couldn't say how long he ran. The adrenaline rush that came from self-imposed muscle pain kept him going far longer than he remembered it working before. Still he saw no sign of another Waystation or a village or inn – nothing. It could have been formless, changeless wilderness that he was circling through. If he hadn't known that the trail behind him led back, he would have become terribly afraid.

Had it been summer he never would have had the courage to trust the path behind him to hold his mark. It began to snow and he wondered why he had trusted the snow to hold his trail. He hadn't realized how tired he really was until he stopped. Then exhaustion really hit him and he couldn't convince his body to take another step forward, much less retrace his steps back. The sky was slowly darkening.

_Great good gods,_ he thought tiredly, his body shaking like a foundering racehorse. _How long was I running?_

Unless time was different here, he must have run for candlemarks! No wonder he felt so exhausted – coming on top of the overload of bouts yesterday, his "little run" had exhausted the last of his physical reserves.

Slowly he sank into the snow, too tired to shiver and felt the comforting arms of numbness open to embrace him. He was so tired… Maybe if he slept for a small while, he'd feel better for the return journey.

To his exhaustion-clouded mind, the pan seemed a good one and he let his eyes drift shut, let the cold embrace take him…

* * *

**Author's Note:** I didn't put in a disclaimer yet... So - just so's ya'll know - I don't own Valdemar or any of its inhabitants aside from the ones I've plunked down.  
Another little sidewinder that asks to be presented is the knowledge that if you've read the whole series, you're going to find a whole lot of familiar names in this one. And if not... Pick up the _Valdemar Companion_ and it'll see you through. Until next time, _Z'hai'helluva! _


	2. The White Horse

Welladay, it's good to be back. Second chapter here.

* * *

_:You idiot.:_ The clear voice cut through his dreamy, half-delirious haze.

Somehow Keighven pushed himself up, his muscles protesting mightily as they creaked into action.

_:Thrice a fool,:_ the voice continued. _:First for going away from the only safe haven you knew. Second for running past your endurance without cause. Third for going to sleep – _in the snow

Keighven blinked wearily. He could see two white pillars in front of him. Looking up, following them, he came to the chest of a horse and then came face-to-face with a blue-eyed creature.

_Oh,_ he thought, as he stared into the creature's deep blue eyes. Puddles of sapphire.

_:I am Gryphon,:_ the voice said into his head. _:You are my Chosen, Keighven. Now get yourself out of the snow and onto my back. If you're not planning on losing limbs to frost burn, we need to get you to a Healer right away.:_

Keighven shook his head a little.

_:Stand up,:_ the voice said. _:Lean on me.:_

Kev reached out a frozen hand and rested it against the white creature's leg. He could feel heat radiating from it. Slowly feeling came back into his hand.

_:Stand up,:_ the voice urged him, and this time he was able to, by pulling on the reins connected to the beast's hackamore.

He knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that _this_ was not a horse, but he had no name for what it might be.

_:I'm a Companion, Keighven,:_ it said gently.

Companion.

He pulled himself upright, mostly using the reins connected to the hackamore as an antidote against his deadweight body.

_:I don't think you'll be able to mount like this,: _he heard,_ :so…:_

The Companion dropped to its knees in front of him.

Dubiously he eyed the saddle. He'd never ridden before.

_:That doesn't matter,:_ the voice cut across. _:Just put one leg over my back. Get in the saddle and I'll keep you safe. I promise.:_

Keighven tumbled over the saddle. The Companion paused a moment as he settled himself then stood, ignoring Kev's gasp when it lurched to its feet.

_:I'm not an 'it', Keighven,:_ the voice came into his mind. _:I'm a 'him'. My name is Gryphon.:_

Oh. He felt a twinge of guilt at the assumption that because the Companion wasn't human he wouldn't mind being an it… Apparently he was wrong and it forcefully reminded him of how he'd hated being an it to prospective gladiator buyers.

_:Exactly,:_ Gryphon said into his mind. _:Now hold on a bit. I'm about to do some speedy terrain covering.:_

Kev took the warning at face value and clutched at the high cantle as Gryphon broke into a swift run. It lasted for maybe a quarter of a candlemark, but even that was enough time for Kev to begin to feel weary again.

When Gryphon stopped, he raised his head and looked around. He was in the middle of a small village, it looked like. He wondered what they were doing there.

_:A Healer is coming,: _Gryphon reported. _:She's a master of her craft, so be sure to listen to her. I'll be in the stables.:_

It didn't take more than half a moment between when Gryphon finished 'speaking' and when the Healer arrived. She looked very, very young to be 'a master' at anything, but not trusting her simply didn't occur to Kev as she pulled him down from the saddle and supported him into the warm inside of one of the village houses.

Inside it was sparsely furnished.

"Sit down," the young Healer ordered, pushing Kev gently towards a chair. "You're frozen almost full-through. Whatever you were doing could _not_ have been important enough to freeze yourself over."

As she tsked over his irrational behavior, she bustle about, taking things out of cabinets and mixing them, setting a kettle on to boil. When the water did, she poured it in a mug along with whatever it was she'd mixed. She gave that to him and then stood back as he drunk it. The concoction wasn't foul tasting at all. Quite the contrary – it was rather sweet with a slight bitter undertone.

He gulped it down eagerly, ignoring the strange looks the Healer was favoring him with. Finally, when he had finished off the contents and set the mug down, she asked, "where are you from?" The way she said it made him think she felt she _should_ know.

"South," he answered shortly. "Disputed territories."

She nodded slightly but she was still frowning a little bit. "What were you doing there?"

"I lived there," he answered, wondering why she sounded a bit preoccupied. Here eyes went wide but for some reason she didn't seem to be looking _at_ him…

Then she did look at him. Her gold-hazel eyes locked with his steely grey ones. "You," she said, voice laden with weariness, and something like tired irony, "are quite a mess."

Keighven looked down at himself. He looked _fine!_ It wasn't as if he'd picked up mud while he was running or riding, and even if he felt incredibly worn, he was sure he didn't look it.

"You're made quite a mess of your body," she continued, raising an eyebrow at him. "Exercise is good for you, mind, but there _is_ a point where you start killing yourself instead of building."

_What?_ He hadn't known that.

"Don't look so surprised," she advised. She paused for a moment. "I never did get your name."

"Keighven," he supplied.

She nodded. "I'm Marti. What's your Companion's name?"

Companion? For a spit second, Kev's exhaustion-cold fogged mind blanked. Then a name came to him. "Gryphon," he croaked out. "His name's Gryphon."

_:So you remembered,:_ came a sardonic little reply in the back of his head.

"He certainly is lovely," Marti said, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "I trained at the Healer's Collegium in Haven," she explained in response to his puzzled look. "I saw a lot of Companions around. I really wanted to be Chosen, but that was before I heard the job description and got to see some of what front-line work _does_ to people. Then I was happy that I was lacking in some way. Sometimes I still wish though…" She trailed off, looking out the window. It was snowing again.

"You should be warm enough by now," she decided aloud.

Her hand went to his shoulder. It burned. The sensation gradually eased though, and she had that peculiar looking-_through_ set to her eyes again. He felt his body temperature rising to normal and the chilled feeling of his numb body subsided along with his exhaustion.

When Marti pulled back, she was grinning at him, but she looked partly drained.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She looked confused for a moment then nodded. "I'm fine – it's just that Healing takes energy to do. Usually the energy comes from a person's reserves, but _you_ my friend," she cast a stern glance at him, "have exhausted _those._"

She laughed. "This isn't true exhaustion for me, either. Nothing a little sleep won't cure, eventually." She pulled a chair up and sat down.

"So, what exactly were you doing out in the snow without a shirt on?" From the tone of her question, Kev easily deduced that she thought he had been with someone else.

"Running," he answered stiffly.

She looked mildly surprised. "You don't get cold when you're running?"

He shook his head. "There was a little boy who was freezing – he needed something to keep himself warm. I could run to keep my body at a suitable temperature whereas he could not. I gave it to him."

Marti nodded. "Yet another reason I wasn't Chosen," she remarked cryptically. "I'm nowhere near selfless enough to do something so incredibly stupid."

She looked out the window and it was silent a long time before she asked, "Are you staying the night then?"

Keighven opened up his mouth to say that he didn't know when Gryphon said, _:Tell her we are. It's too cold out for me right now and it's _still_ snowing. So, yes, we will stay the night.:_

Armed with the knowledge, Keighven answered in the affirmative and was pleased when Marti smiled.

"I'll have to make up a bed for you then, unless you want to sleep in the infirmary," she said apologetically, rising.

"It doesn't matter," Keighven said. "I don't mind sleeping in the infirmary."

Marti paused. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Most certainly yes," he replied.

"Well, that certainly makes things easier," she said, plopping back down into the chair. She crossed her legs and studied him for a minute.

"Tell me something," she asked – or demanded.

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know…Something about yourself." She sounded as eager as a child begging for a bedtime story.

"Well," Kev began, trying to think of something suitably impressive and exotic that didn't have anything to do with his career as a gladiator.

"I had three brothers," he finally told her.

"What are their names?" she asked.

"Devon – he was the oldest. Then there was me, and after me came the twins, Braedon and Alex."

"How much older is Devon?"

"He would be…" Keighven paused to think. If Devon had been five when _he_ was born – "He would be twenty four."

Marti made a face. "Why do you keep saying 'were' and 'would have been'?" she inquired. "Are they dead?"

Keighven chuckled. So tactless. "No, they're not dead," he said. "AT least, the last time I saw them, they weren't dead. But that was many years ago, and now I have no idea where they are in the world and what they're doing."

Marti nodded. "So," she asked, after a suitable moment of silence had passed, "What do you want to know about me?"

Kev started a little. "Um—" he said brilliantly.

_:Ask her about her age, or Healer's Collegium,:_ Gryphon prompted.

"How old are you?" Kev asked, taking the Companion's advice.

Marti smiled. "Thirteen in two days," she answered.

Kev felt like he should be making a big deal out of it from the way she said it. Never mind that boys as young as eight fought in the arena. If Gryphon found this girl child's age and scholarship to be worth mentioning, it had to be of some not.

_:Quite true,:_ came the laughter-tinged reply in his mind. _:But seriously, Keighven, most Healers don't get out of the Collegium until they're eighteen or better. Marti has such a powerful Healing Gift that she was taken in for training at six and it took her four years to graduate. Most aren't accepted until their fourteenth year, and anyone taken earlier _still_ doesn't earn their Greens until much later.:_

_That_ suitably impressed even Keighven.

"Gryphon says you're something terribly special," he commented.

Marti practically glowed. "Really?"

Now that he knew how young she was, it was easy to see her age in how excited she became over that simple compliment.

"Really," he assured her.

Things went on in the same vein for some time – long enough at least for Keighven to begin to suitably appreciate her mature prospective.

Among other things, he found out that she tended the people of the village and the ones nearby as well. There was another Healer who also helped, but he had a weak Healing Gift himself and served more often as the herbalist and adult mentor.

Having Marti here, he inferred, probably freed up some Healers who might be needed elsewhere. The border here was between unclaimed territory and Valdemar, so there weren't really any true threats. It was safe enough to have Marti here by her relative lonesome.

And the villagers looked out for her too. They wouldn't leave her to fend for herself. In fact, if she hadn't insisted on following general protocol and living in the House of Healing, then she probably would have taken up residence in the home of one of the old mothers in the town.

When Keighven began to be tired, Marti noticed and hushed herself up. "You should probably be going to sleep now," she said, slipping back into mini-adult mode.

"I think you are correct in that assessment," Keighven conceded, a bit of desperate weariness creeping into his voice despite his intentions to cloak it. He smiled ruefully. "I'm farther gone than I thought."

Marti nodded. "I figured you would be," she said cryptically, then led him to the infirmary where he laid down and easily fell asleep nearly as soon as she left.

About midway through the night, he woke up and cautiously extended the curious mental 'ear' that had appeared when Gryphon did.

_:Awake?:_ Gryphon's mind voice was alert and cheerful – far too awake for the hour.

"Yes," Keighven whispered into the silence, feeling like a bit of a fool talking to thin air.

_:Don't _say_ the words – just think them,:_ Gryphon said gently. _:I'll hear you.:_

_:And if I didn't wish my thoughts to be heard?: _Kev inquired.

_:That comes with learning how to shield,:_ the Companion replied tartly. _:For now though, there are a couple of things we need to figure out.:_

_:Such as?:_

_:First off,: _Gryphon began, his mental voice carrying with it dead seriousness, _:I've been picking up small hints of the – episode – that drove you away from the fighter's place. I know you saw a Herald there – :_

Reflexively, Kev winced at the word. He'd been taught to flee at that, but somehow it just didn't fit, like so many other things.

_:Yes,:_ he replied, cautious. _:Why is that important?:_

_:Justyn and Fedor disappeared down there. It was their job to clean out a rat's nest of bandits, and we figured that there would be villagers to help out – that sort of thing.: _There was a worried note in his voice. _:But no one's heard from either one of them since they left.:_

_:And you want to know if I know anything about it, right?: _Keighven groaned cynically.

_:Well, yes.:_ Gryphon sounded nearly apologetic about it.

_;He wasn't killed, if that's what you mea,:_ Kev said, trying to remember. _:Unless they got him after I'd left. Mostly everyone was just running away, trying not to get caught. No one was terribly fond of Heralds, but the only true fighters took off – none of _them_ would have stayed to battle a _Herald

_:Hmn.:_ The Companion sounded thoughtful. _:None of the overlords were trained by way of the sword?:_

_:Not to my knowledge. I mean, sure, Lord Bonden knew enough to suitably impress his younger fighters, but he's the only one I can think of.:_

_:Well _that _certainly put a new complexion on things,:_ Gryphon mused.

_:Why?:_

_:Because of none of those left were any hand with a sword, Justyn could have easily dispatched them. He's one of the most brilliant swordsmen. He _isn't _dead. One of us would know, and if there weren't any real fighters left, then it's highly unlikely that he'd have been taken hostage.:_

_:Oh,: _was all Keighven could think to say.

_:Oh, indeed,:_ Gryphon echoed. _:Justyn's not an amazing mindspeaker, but with Fedor to boost him, he should have been able to reach _me_ at least. And I haven't heard anything. Kyrith is near mad with worry.:_

_:Kyrith?:_

_:Companion to Randall, the Monarch's Own Herald,:_ Gryphon replied in a preoccupied way.

_:Why would – Kyrith – be mad with worry?:_ Keighven pressed. He wasn't sure if Kyrith was male or female, so he refrained from assigning a gender, waiting for Gryphon to reveal it.

_:I keep forgetting you don't understand most of this,:_ the Companion said, his mind voice soft. _:Kyrith is bonded to Randall, but Randall and Justyn are brothers and there's a possibility that…: _He paused as if thinking of the best way to word it. Finally, he finished, just saying, _:Kyrith doesn't want to lose Justyn.:_

It didn't seem enough, somehow, but Gryphon refused to assuage Keighven's curiosity so instead of continuing to pry, he changed the topic.

_:Where are you taking me? I mean – I assume we do have a destination, correct?:_

A light chuckle, overlaid with faint relief greeted his query.

_:Yes, we do have a destination. We're going to Haven, to the Heralds' Collegium.:_

The word Collegium evoked images of a huge marble fighting arena. Kev shook his head to clear it of the picture.

_:No, it won't be like that,: _Gryphon assured him. _:For one thing, all the fighting training happens in the sale. For another, there are servants, and nobility all of them living together.:_

_That_ gave him a pretty picture to imagine.

_:What'll it be like?: _he asked, curiosity getting the better of him, even though he was beginning to feel tired again.

_:Well,:_ Gryphon said, _:the weapon's work should be easy for you. If physical fitness were the only qualification, you'd be passed into Whites the moment they saw you.:_

_:But?:_ Keighven prompted.

_:But you also need to know people,: _Gryphon continued. _:You'll have to take classes – reading, writing. I know you're passable at both, but if we can expand your abilities, we will. You'll take Religions, study trade routes, and get training in your Gifts.:_

Gryphon seemed ready to continue on in the same vein, but Keighven stopped him.

_:What Gift?:_ he asked, confused.

_:You're a mindspeaker of middling ability,: _Gryphon said. _:You can't expand the power, but you will learn control over that ability. You've got a smattering of Empathy – just enough to cause trouble if it gets out of hand. No Mage-potential, which is a pity, but you're going to be one hell of a Fetcher.:_

The best Kev could manage in reaction was _:What?:_

_:Fetching,:_ Gryphon replied primly. _:You'll be able to move things with your mind. Granted, anytime you do, it'll give you a wicked reaction headache, but that can't be helped, and history has shown Fetching to be quite an intriguing Gift. Too bad you don't have Firestarting abilities as well,: _he teased.

At least, Kev _thought _he was teasing. It was a little hard to tell, and he was tired again…

_:Go to sleep,:_ Gryphon advised. _:We're leaving early tomorrow and you'll need your rest.:_

The presence of Companion withdrew from his mind and he followed Gryphon's excellent advice, easily slipping back into sleep's welcoming embrace…

* * *

Author's Note: 


	3. A New Home

Third chapter!

* * *

"Wake up, sleepyhead!" That voice – he knew it wasn't a voice he'd heard before. 

Kev's eyes opened to the infirmary and a pair of girl standing beside his bed. The shorter one was Marti. The one who had made the cooing invitation to return to wakefulness was most likely her sister. The two of them looked remarkably similar.

Keighven sat up, rubbing bleary eyes.

"Much as I'd love for you to stay," Marti said in her miniature-adult voice, "you need to get on the road with Gryphon if you plan on reaching the capital before you die of old age." She rummaged in her pocket for a moment before producing a small, etched bronze square. "Give this to who asks for it in Haven, hear?" Marti said.

Keighven nodded mutely.

"I'll miss you,":Marti said, "but don't worry – we'll be seeing each other again sooner or later. I have to come by the capital every once in awhile! Now be off, scamp!" She giggled and pushed the other girl out of the infirmary, leaving him to get dressed.

In the back of his mind, he felt something suspiciously like a chuckle.

_:Find something amusing ?:_ he asked.

_:Not anymore,:_ came Gryphon's mind voice, overlaid with colorful splashes of happy yellow. _:Well, get up. She's right. We do need to leave.:_

_:Whyfore?:_ Kev asked as he pulled on his breeches and tunic.

_:Because we're not actually supposed to have stayed overnight. The only reason I did was because carrying you all the way to Haven when you had frost-burn was not going to do either of us any good.: _

_:Oh,:_ was all the reply Kev could think up, so he changed the subject. _:How long will it take to get there? Haven, I mean..: _

Gryphon's answer surprised him. _:I plan on taking every shortcut I know, so about another day and a half. We won't stop anymore, so make sure Marti knows and gets you provisions for it. Ask for some rope too, so you can sleep.: _

_:Okay-: _He didn't see how having rope was going to make a difference to whether he could sleep or not.

_:I can't think of anything else for you to get except a warm cloak and a shirt,:_ Gryphon finished. _:You'll be frozen in a candlemark or less if you neglect _those.:

Kev sent a wordless assent to the Companion.

As it turned out, though, _Keighven_ didn't have to ask for anything. Marti had anticipated his ever need, and then some. She brusquely herded him into a room to give him a few packs and gave him a quick hug, which he tentatively returned.

Within the span of about half a mark, he was back on Gryphon and the two of them were gone from sight of the town.

Gryphon's pace altered from a steady jog to a lope that moved the two of them along faster than Kev had ever gone in his life. He didn't cling to the saddle for support – but he dearly wanted to. Only after he discovered how easily he really _could_ balance himself in the saddle did his give up his imagined fear of falling and began to enjoy the ride.

_:About time, too,: _a voice muttered in his head.

_:It's not _my_ fault you didn't tell me,:_ he pointed out.

_:This is true, but it's still about time you began paying attention, gutter rat.:_ The nickname made Kev grin.

_:My brothers used to call me that,:_ he remarked.

_:I know,:_ Gryphon answered, rather smugly, Kev thought. _:I have no idea why they chose it for you. Even half-drowned and soaked to the bone, I doubt you'd resemble a rat. Now a _mouse--:

Kev laughed. He didn't know why he was laughing. It was easier than thinking, he supposed. Easier than dwelling on what was happening to him, and easier than contemplating the future.

_:Tell me a story,:_ he begged after another mark or so of silence.

_:About what:_ Gryphon seemed surprised by the request.

_:Something. Anything.. I need something to keep me from me from thinking.: _

_:You can't keep from thinking forever.: _There was faint disapproval in that mind voice.

"Not forever!" Kev exclaimed. "Just for now."

_:Please?:_ he added when the Companion didn't immediately reply.

_:What do you want to hear?:_ Gryphon asked. _:History, myth?: _

_:Not dry history…:_ Kev thought for a moment. _:You could tell me about you.: _

Gryphon snorted derisively. _:There's nothing to tell,:_ he said in a voice that booked no argument. _:Although, I think the Founding might interest you.: _

"Founding?" Kev echoed.

_:The Founding of Valdemar where Baron Valdemar came here and the first Companions made their Choice.: _

"I've never heard that before," Kev admitted.

For this next candlemark or so, he was completely enraptured. Along with a remarkable talent of storytelling, Gryphon could also impart basic images, which helped give the feeling that he was _there_, living the Founding of Valdemar. When the narrative reached its conclusion, Kev sat breathless, amazed at all the Founding represented and still more how _important_ that was now.

_:Like it?:_ Gryphon asked. Surprisingly, he sounded to Keighven very much like a young boy, curiously asking for a review of his newest artwork – eager, and anxious at the same time.

"Yes, Kev breathed out. "I – I've never heard anything like it…"

* * *

The next day passed swiftly – almost too swiftly. It remained a blur in Kev's mind, no matter how hard he tried to recall it. And – impossibly – they were within sight of a major city by nightfall. 

Kev felt his jaw drop when he saw the place from on top of a rise just outside the farthest of the city's walls. It was huge! He'd imagined a structure similar to the training collegium _he'd_ been in for his fighter's training… Maybe a bit larger as it had been designated as the capital. This place was easily five or six times as large – including multiplying the lands that had belonged to the Collegium!

How on earth did they fill it?

And then another thought – _What the hell am I doing here? _

If it had been up to him, he never would have consented to come to this place within the borders of the most famed – and feared – country in their world.

He never would have made the choice, so how - ?

_:Simple,: _Gryphon answered, speaking to him bluntly. _:I chose to put a slight coercion on you. That's why you came – not because you designed to trust us in spite of your better instincts. So, technically, you're not responsible for your behavior in coming here, if it eases your conscience. _I_ kidnapped you. And – in part – that's why your memory of the last few days is as hazy as I suspect it must be. I'm not as adept at putting mental coercions on people as, say, Kyrith, is.: _

Keighven's head reeled. "You fooled around with my head?" he asked, feeling oddly relaxed despite his best attempts to get upset and demand to know what the hell was really going on.

_:Yes,:_ Gryphon answered – a touch too cheerfully, Keighven thought sourly.

"So now that you've suitably mucked around with my mind, are you finished yet?" Kev demanded.

_:Unfortunately, not yet. You still have some schooling to go through before you have a hope of getting rid of __me.:_

"School?"

_:Yes again. Herald Collegium. It should take a max of about five years for you to get through it. More likely, say, two or three. You're already terribly adept at weapons work – even Featherfire will have to admit _that.: There was a certain smug satisfaction that colored the Companion's mind voice that left Kev no small certainty that whoever this "Featherfire" was, he probably was a fierce fighter.

Well, if it came to a confrontation, Keighven could prove _he_ was a fighter unmatched in any capacity.

_:That probably won't be necessary,:_ Gryphon remarked dryly. _:Featherfire'll probably give you a few students to tutor after getting a good look at you. You have the _look_ of a warrior, not just the training.: _

The Companion had been winding his way through the deserted streets, slowly approaching – something. He moved with a sense of purpose, as if he knew exactly what his goal was.

_:I do,: _Gryphon pointed out.

Keighven decided to ignore the remark. Instead, his thoughts fell on what this place was and why he was still – for all that he knew of the coercion – could not break free and run away. It both terrified and exhilarated him.

_:There've been many to feel the same,:_ Gryphon said gently. _:Most notably, one of my old year mates. She would've fled once, seeing the city gates as well, but Rolan wouldn't let her, and I'll be damned if I let you. So, hold on.: _

Gryphon's warning came a split second before he lurched into a ground-eating lope that soon had them up near a huge palace – and a pair of people in official looking uniforms came forward.

Kev felt his heart dart into the vicinity of his boots. Men in uniforms were men in power, men to be feared. But – as they came closer, he saw that one was a man and the other a _woman_. Both carried swords with the ease of fighters long trained to its use, but _not_ – he noted carefully – with the air of one who lived or died by skill alone. It was the woman who spoke first, and to the Companion rather than to Kev himself.

"So ho there!" she exclaimed, putting a friendly hand on Gryphon's head.

Kev felt an unaccounted for surge of jealousy at the friendly movement.

"Gryphon right?" she asked.

Gryphon nodded his head.

"Well, welcome back, lad," the woman said with a hearty pat to the Companions withers to go with the warm welcome. Only then did she look up at him.

"And who've we here?" she asked conversationally, smiling.

"Keighven," he answered, a bit stiffly.

"Not anyone I know," she sighed. "It looked like Gryph was headed back for my old place when he left, and I'd been terribly curious. Ah well. Let's get you settled in lad, shall we?"

Kev only just had the time to nod before he was swept down off Gryphon and into the custody of another woman, this one dressed all in white –

_Oh gods._ He felt himself go weak with fear unspoken and only the reassuring presence in the back of his mind kept him from bolting – or attacking.

"I hope you'll forgive me for swooping down on you from nowhere," the White-clad Herald woman said.

Kev stared at her suspiciously. With her long black hair and perfect golden-bronze complexion, she could have been one of the Plains nomads he'd heard about. He'd even seen one once, facing one across the arena back at the Fighter's Collegium.

Instead of replying to her, he nodded mutely, letting her decipher the gesture as she wished.

"I'm Joselyn, by the way," she added and before he could say anything, he was inside the Palace complex, completely stunned.

"Sorry," Joselyn said, looking a tad sheepish. "It's a long walk from some places in the complex to others, so a while back, we had mini-permanent Gates installed so we could get from one place to another quickly, but since they're not obvious, it's a little shocking going through them the first time."

While she was talking, she kept walking, and he dazedly followed behind her.

Now the pair of them were standing outside an office door. Joselyn pounded on it.

The door opened and a craggy-faced old man peeked out. "Jos?" he asked, his voice surprisingly deep.

"Whyfore ye bangin' on th' door?"

"New Trainee," Joselyn answered crisp as if reporting for duty.

The door opened completely and Kev could see the old man was also dressed in that dreaded uniform – the Whites.

He didn't wince, but it was only good training that kept him from it.

The old man looked at him appraisingly. It felt rather like he was a chicken on display at the market and this Herald one of the old ladies inspecting him for dinner. Not a pleasant sensation.

"Have you been assigned as his mentor, then?" the old man asked.

Joselyn nodded. "He needs his schedule made up in the next day or two though, because Kayla was warned by Kyrith that Regen said there's going to be a heavy influx of Trainees soon."

The old man's face became dour at that. "I'll see what I can do," he growled, "if you'll take him down to Featherfire. I'm not up to walking down there."

Joselyn nodded. "I'll do it, and thanks, Lance."

As the old man shut the door, Kev thought he heard him chuckling about something.

Then Joselyn latched onto his arm and he was off again, feeling very much as if he'd been snatched out of his own reality and placed carelessly into someone else's.

"That was Lance," Joselyn was saying. "He's my uncle, but he likes to pretend we're not related at all, and he gets into a foul mood if I dare to call him 'Uncle'! He say's it makes him feel old." She cast him a curious glance. "You're awfully quiet – something the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Kev gave her a startled look. He hadn't heard _that_ particular expression before.

"Never mind," Joselyn said hastily, seeming a bit contrite. Why, he couldn't imagine.

"It's late, but Featherfire should still be in the salle. Some of the Trainees here have such hectic schedules nowadays that they take weaponry after dinner. Thank the goddess _I_ didn't have to do that – I'd have gone mad!"

* * *

The salle was a large, rather unimpressive room, except for the row of mirrors covering one whole wall from top to bottom. _Those_ made Kev's jaw drop. He walked up to them, slowly and put out a hesitant hand to meet his own reflection. If he hadn't been one of Lord Vilmos' fighters, perhaps he wouldn't have had an appreciation of the cost in time and skill that would have gone into the making of these. But he had been – and he did. 

"Like 'em, huh?" the rough female voice made him turn around, his hand unconsciously groping for a weapon he didn't have.

"You're the new one, then." The woman was sturdily built, like a great oak tree. Her hair was bound back in a single, heavy braid and it was ice white. Her golden skin seemed otherworldly in the strange half-light of the sale. She seemed to be waiting for a reply. He inclined his head briefly.

"Sword or knife?"

"Both," he replied, his hackled rising a little at the assumption that he'd only have mastered one.

Her eyebrows went up a bit.

"Formal training?" she inquired.

He nodded. She grimaced.

"Alright then. I'd have a bought with you here and now, but it's a bit dim in here and I'd rather not break the mirrors or each other. Joselyn, bring him back around noon tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am," Joselyn replied, and snapped off a quick salute. Then she turned and walked briskly out of the sale, clearly intending for _him_ to follow _her._ He did, inwardly cringing about following behind a mere female… But she knew the place and he did not, so for now, they were on relatively equal ground.

"Featherfire's one of the best arms teachers there's been," she said, sounding slightly distracted as she led the way back into the huge marble building, this time by a more conventional means.

Kev did little more than grunt. _If he's so wonderful, why didn't she take me to see him? _

Joselyn stopped and pointed down the hallway. "Your room is third one on the left – Justyn's old room, I think it is, actually. Anyway, I'll be here tomorrow to pick you up when Morning Bells ring and we can go down to breakfast. After that, Lance should have your basic schedule and we can get you into Orientation. Should be smooth sailing after that."

She grinned and faded off down the opposite hallway, leaving Keighven feeling distinctly unfinished.

_:Go open the door,:_ Gryphon urged.

He did as requested and found a plain room, uninhabited, bearing a set of bookshelves, a fireplace and an unornamented bed. He stared about in wonderment, realizing that he had this place to himself, and if he wished to barricade himself into the room, they could never get him to come out…

_:It's actually Silver's old room, not Justyn's, but that hardly matters,: _Gryphon noted crisply as Kev regarded the room. _:Now get some sleep, Keighven, or you'll be worse off in the morning than you were when you fell asleep in that snow bank!:_

Then, the Companion 'blanked' out of his mind and he _was_ aware of just how supremely exhausted he really was at the moment. The bed looked so welcoming…

* * *

Author's Note: What can I say? There've been plenty of hits on the story, and thank all four horse lords I've got reviews! I LIVE for them!!! Anyone recognize names yet? You _should -_ after all, I'm being about as obvious as I can with some of them. 


	4. Introductions

Woot! 4th chapter is up.

* * *

It was the sharp clanging of bells that had woken him, and he held himself absolutely still, waiting for his memory to catch up with him, to tell him just why he was in a bed rather than on a comfortable pallet on the floor. There were no drafts, either – something he found distinctly odd. 

Then, as memory found him, he felt the alien, yet strangely familiar touch of Gryphon's mind on his.

_:Good morning, sleepy one.: _

"You're altogether too awake," Kev mumbled, rolling out of bed and hunting for a decent pair of leggings to pull on.

_:In the closet,:_ Gryphon urged.

Kev followed the Companion's direction and opened it up. Inside were a set of grey tunics and breeches that looked like they'd barely fit him.

He pulled one out and eyed it distastefully.

"How am I supposed to squeeze myself into _this_?"

He felt someone looking through his eyes.

_:It does look a little small, but you'll never know unless you try them.:_

Against his better judgement, Kev pulled the tunic over his head, waiting the whole time for the seams to snap. When they didn't and the shirt didn't feel like it was attempting to break his rib cage – he looked down at himself and his mouth dropped open.

_:Just what I thought,: _remarked that little voice in the back of his head. _:They've finally gotten those mages to do something _useful_ for a change. No more waiting for uniforms that fit – they're all magicked to match their wearer. Brilliant, isn't it?: _

In his haze of amazement, Keighven found himself forced to agree it was.

_:Now get those breeches on and get outside. I'll bet Jos is waiting for you.: _

He pulled on his pants quickly and opened the door to find Joselyn, her black hair pulled back into a series of braids that seemed a touch too delicate for her face. Seeing the ease with which she wore the hairstyle though, Kev found himself forced to rethink his immediate opinion. It was probably more stable than it seemed.

"Ready then?" she asked, smiling at him. "I figured _some_one would have remembered to have an extra set of Grays in the closet for you – I'm glad they did!"

Seeing his still dumbfounded expression, Joselyn attempted to take pity on him. "The old Grays used to be hand made by tailors, and recycled among the Trainees, but these newer ones are much easier on everyone. Not that they don't still get cycled – and they _are_ still Collegium property – but it's pretty much on a one-size fits all basis now. The mages worked a bit of a spell on 'em so that they'll fit damn near anyone _who belongs in Grays._ They don't fit anyone else, and I'll be damned if I know how they pulled _that_ one off."

Kev didn't attempt a reply. All this talk of grey and magic, clothing and mages was making his head reel.

"Come on then, let's be down for breakfast before all the good stuff gets eaten up."

He was left to trail after her, pardonably annoyed with the overenthusiastic attitude. Quite possibly even more annoyed than he'd been with Gryphon earlier…

* * *

The dining hall was just beginning to grow crowded as stragglers trailed in and cheerfully began complaining about the early hour.

Joselyn seated herself at a table near the far end of the hall with others also wearing the feared white uniform. She didn't seem to expect Keighven to follower her, so he chose a deserted table and eyed the food laid out on it with some curiosity.

_:It's not poisoned, if that's what's making you hesitate.:_

"It isn't," Kev mumbled. Then he switched to mind speech, feeling much more comfortable talking in his head to Gryphon than seeming to be having a discussion with a bread roll.

_:I'm not used to eating before I exercise,:_ he grumbled.

_:Get up earlier then,: _the Companion advised.

Keighven sent a rude message back in return, earning himself a rather surprised laugh. He stared at the roll in his hand for another long moment before biting into it. There was a slightly different texture to this bread than there was to bread he was used to having. And it wasn't ash-blackened or overcooked, too little flour or over-seasoned. It was _good_, and he finished it off quickly, shooting a longing glance at the basket filled with more.

_:You can have another. They make enough.:_

Hmn. Kev pulled out another roll and ate that one too. By the time he was half-way through his third, he noticed a set of wide-eyed children on his left, watching him.

Feeling acutely embarrassed, but not willing to show it, Kev finished off the roll and only then turned to look at the pair of boys watching him. They looked very alike – brothers, he supposed. The one closest to him had a heart-shaped face, and both of them sported matching black hair and pale blue-grey eyes. There was a stubbornness written across both faces, and despite their rather diminutive size, he guessed they were closer to being fifteen or so rather than the elven years they _appeared_ to possess.

"Who are you?" he asked when it became clear they intended only to stare at him.

"Jem," the close one said. His deep voice confirmed Keighven's suspicion that they were older than they looked. Jem nodded towards the boy behind him. "This is m'brother, Nadav."

Keighven nodded.

"You new here?" Jem asked. His voice was neutral, so Keighven couldn't tell what he meant – if it was a challenge or a simple inquiry.

Cautiously, in case it was the former, he replied in the affirmative.

Jem grinned. The smile took his face from mini-adult (the way Marti's had been) to a true adolescent.

"Great!" he exclaimed, sounding truly enthusiastic. "Who Chose you?"

"Gryphon –"

"Ah, the trouble-maker in chief of the Companions," Jem remarked knowingly. "Kyrith's had more than his share of trouble keeping _that_ prankster under wraps, or so Father tells us."

"Father?"

:We're Randall's," Jem explained. "Dav's a page here, but I got Chosen." He looked especially pleased by that pronouncement.

"By whom?" Kev asked, guessing it to be an expected reply.

"Kadin," Jem boasted.

_:That's one of the true fighters of the Companion's herd,:_ Gryphon put in. Keighven was hardly surprised at the Companion's audacity to assumed he'd allow snooping in the back of his head. _:This one must give Featherfire no end of trouble.: _

"Fighter, then?" Keighven asked.

Jem looked surprised. "You know Kadin?"

"Not myself," Keighven admitted, "but Gryphon knows everyone and everything around this place like the back of his hoof, so _he_ knows what that means. _And,_" he added when Jem looked slightly less than suitably impressed, "he's also told me that you must be quite the handful for the weaponsmaster. Perhaps, if I ever get a free mark, we can spar together."

_:I hope you're not making that promise lightly. Jem _will_ take you up on it,:_ Gryphon warned.

_:I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it,:_ Kev shot back, a trifle irked that Gryphon would think he'd baby Jem. After all, he'd seen younger boys get cut to ribbons in the Collegium _he'd_ come from.

"What are your Gifts?" Jem asked, his interest obvious.

"Gifts?" For a moment, Kev drew a blank, before remembering what Gryphon had told him a day or two ago. Almost verbatim, he recited, "Mindspeaker of mid-ability, a smattering of Empathy, no Mage-gift, but strong Fetching."

Jem grinned. "Volatile Fetcher?"

"What?"

"_Firestarter?"_

Kev recalled what Gryphon had said about that, and shook his head. He expected Jem's broad grin to vanish, but instead it just diminished slightly.

"Oh well," the boy said. "Can't have it all. I'm a Firestarter, and I'm just beginning to be able to work mindspeech with people. Talking with Kadin is pretty easy, but it's harder with people."

_:Sometime, you really will have to explain this all to me,:_ Kev growled to Gryphon.

_:After you wear yourself out against Featherfire, I will,: _Gryphon promised.

"Well, that's all very fascinating," Keighven said, slowly inching away from Jem, "but I have things that need doing shortly. I'm pleased to have met you, Jem…"

Joselyn materialized at his elbow. "Heyla, Jem," she greeted. "I hope you'll pardon me while I steal Keighven here. Lance still needs to give him a schedule."

Jem laughed, and Keighven was again surprised at how adult the boy sounded when he said, "Then we wouldn't want to be wasting time, would we? Lance is a formidable opponent indeed when things are not all to his liking. I suppose I'll see you sometime soon, Keighven."

Jem stood up and his brother, Nadav, did as well. Together, the two of them walked out and for some reason Keighven had an odd feeling. To make sure it wasn't just himself being paranoid – or something like that – he checked with Gryphon.

_:That little interview was entirely for Nadav's benefit, wasn't it?: _

Gryphon sounded surprised when he replied, _:I hadn't known you'd noticed. But, since you ask, yes it was. Nadav is mute. He couldn't ask any questions of you, and from what I gather, he's terribly shy as well. Jem's the more outgoing of the two by far, and I still wouldn't call him an extrovert. It's only by virtue of you being a Herald Trainee that he felt comfortable enough to approach you.:_

Keighven let that stew in his head while Joselyn led him back down into the heart of the Collegium.

At a door, she stopped and knocked. The old man who had opened the door yesterday, opened it again today.

"Back, Joselyn?" He seemed to think it funny for some reason.

"With a vengeance," Jos answered, grinning. "Have you got Keighven's schedule made up then?"

"Aye, and it's filled to the brim with lost of things that should have the poor lad spinning in circles by nightfall of the third day."

"Havens forbid! Well, let's see what you've put him in for…" Joselyn took the paper Lance offered and looked closely at it. "Weapons in the morning – good. Writing, figuring and history in the afternoons, open chores in the early evenings and…" she trailed off. "Is it really necessary to have two weapon's practices a day?"

"Featherfire requested it special for him," Lance answered, jerking his chin at Keighven.

"Well, if that's what Feather wants," Joselyn said, doubtfully. "Anyway," she continued, back to her bright and bubbly self in an instant, "we're going down to the salle, so we can talk about it."

* * *

Author's Note: Well, it's a trifle shorter than by chapters have been thus far, but I hope you'll forgive me. I'll work up a long one, I promise! Or, medium long, anyway. Reviews are loved!! 


	5. What Makes A Monarch's Own

Fifth chapter, and I'm SO sorry it took me forever to get it out! In the words of Herald Vanyel, _I'm sorry - I got tangled - and then I fell on my nose for a while - and then I had a visit to make - and then I had a visitor myself._

* * *

The salle was deserted when they came in. Or, rather, near deserted. In the corner, a shadow shape lurked. Keighven spotted it right away and made careful note of it.

"Featherfire!" Joselyn called into the echoing stillness. "We're here!"

"So I see." The shadow-shape moved, and came forward. "You're still not checking our surroundings closely enough, Joselyn," the tall, dark-haired woman admonished. "This lad saw me at once, but you probably wouldn't have known I was there if I hadn't moved."

Joselyn flushed a bit.

"You, on the other hand don't seem all that surprised to see me come from nowhere," the woman commented, turning her eyes to Keighven. "Which means one of two things – either you're a master at hiding your emotions or you saw me. I'll bet on the latter."

She offered her hand to him, and after a fraction of a second hesitation, he took it. Her palm was heavily calloused and warm, but not moist. A firm grip met his. She nodded once and released his hand.

Inside, he was still waiting for the 'Featherfire' that he expected to be running the salle to show up. True, calloused hands were all well and good for an assistant – if she even ranked that high, and Keighven had his own personal doubts about that – but a real weaponsmaster… He would be made of more than callous. A _real_ master would have the careful, calculated movements of a man who let no energy go to waste. There would be a self-assured air to him. _Like whoever this woman was –_

Except a woman would never be a weaponsmaster.

"Joselyn," the woman barked, startling Keighven out of his half-dazed thoughts. "Get out some practice padding and armor. I'm going to have you two go at it for a bit before I take the lad on."

When he bristled at that, she noticed and laughed.

"Don't get defensive with me, lad. I've seen and trained enough good fighters to know excessive energy when I see it. Burn that off first so you won't make amateur mistakes in _our_ duel, boy."

Keighven thought carefully about he words as he pulled padded armor on and selected a nicely balanced practice blade.

_:She's right, you know,: _Gryphon put in, a trifle unexpectedly. _:And it'll be easier for you if you get the extra energy gone. So don't you dare hold back on Jos. She's a pretty damn good warrior herself.:_

Those sobering words – and the implications they carried with them – echoed in Kev's skull as he took his place opposite Jos in the salle.

The two of them faced each other, matching one another stare for stare. Then the tension ripped as she charged and he stepped forward as well.

Gryphon and that woman were right – he could feel it immediately. His reflexes were a touch slow, partially from not being warmed up and partly from hyper-tense muscles. He guessed Jos felt the same way, though from the easy fluidity of her movements , she could have already been perfectly warmed u.

_:She is. She came down to warm up before she took you to breakfast.:_

Well, that was interesting, and if one person could do it, then surely another might be able to as well…

Joselyn attacked, her face nearly expressionless. Keighven stepped into the attack with his defense, a strategy that almost always threw the other fighter's balance off. It was a little risky because if his opponent's attack landed before his defense was properly up, it was as good as a suicide move.

But Keighven had had plenty of time to perfect it. Jos was effectively thrown out of synch with whatever it had been she'd wanted to do. When she recovered, Keighven was circling, partly crouched.

From the surprised look on her face, he knew he'd done something she considered to be unorthodox. Not that he really cared if it was. As long as the move worked, he could care less if it was legal!

The two of them exchanged a few more attacks and parried, all delivered in the careful, slightly reserved fashion of two warriors taking an opponent's measure.

Then Keighven attacked. The two of them had fallen into a pattern – something that was dangerous. Kev let it go on long enough to lull Jos into complacency, then attacked instead of retreating as she clearly expected. His sword crossed with her blade. In two heavy, hacking strikes, he drove her back, using his superior strength as an advantage.

When she stepped out of the circle, he expected the woman on the side lines to call it, but she didn't, so he assumed the duel wasn't going by the rule of the Fighter's Circle Discipline.

Joselyn attacked then. She was panting and sweating. Kev felt like he was just getting properly warmed up. The excess energy that had made him move a little sluggishly at the beginning was gone now, leaving only a well-tuned and ready warrior.

The woman on the side seemed to know it, because before Kev could attack Jos and end the bout, she stepped in. He pulled the attack he'd been about to launch and dropped out of attack position into a defender's stance.

The woman smiled at Joselyn and took her blade, saying something to the younger woman softly.

Whatever it was, Jos nodded and began to walk slowly to the edge of the salle. Kev noticed she favored her left foot a little bit – just enough to produce a small limp.

His attention was regained by the woman in front of him.

"If you haven't figured it out yet," she said crisply, laying into him with an easy hacking swing, "I'm Featherfire, the weaponsmaster." Her casual tone made him feel very – odd. He _had_ assumed that the master would be male, but somehow, too, he was hardly surprised now that she was the weaponsmaster.

After the brilliance of her assignments, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for her, though he wondered how much of it was his own and how much could be attributed to Gryphon.

He stepped back from her onslaught, deciding her name suited her battle style. Never in the same place twice, light on her feet and sparkling with a brilliant red-hot energy that defied obvious years.

Her style was as alien to him as he supposed his had been to Joselyn. Her blade was a single-handed sword, but she wielded it with both hands, slicing it through the air with a double grip that defied all conventionality.

Neither did she always move to engage.

Kev was reminded of the unpredictability of a campfire. She was never where he _thought_ she was going to be. But if her style confounded him, his was at least as strange to her. He had seen brief flashes of annoyance or surprise flicker across her face a few times.

Then the two of them engaged at the same time. Featherfire's weapon was longer than Kev's, but its superior reach was compromised by her double handed hold on it. It left her open to attack.

Kev's blade dove forward, aiming under her defenses. Impossibly, she blocked it, but he couldn't tell _how_ she'd done it, only that he blade had been deflected and that her sword was still too high to have done anything. And he realized he wasn't going to be able to catch her overhand attack.

There was the time he'd been in a similar predicament on the Fighter's Field. It had been practice, and he'd lost the bout, but he remembered asking the trainer later how to deal with such a situation should it arise on the Field in a real battle.

* * *

_"Learn to fall." _

_"Fall?" Confusion rippled over his face. _

_"Yes, fall. Learn to throw yourself away from anything, including an attack, without losing your blade or accidentally impaling yourself. Learn to fall."

* * *

_

Featherfire's sword descended. Kev thrust his own sword out behind himself and then tumbled gracelessly sideways – _away_ from his blade so he wouldn't be skewered on it. His unexpected tumble surprised Featherfire enough that he had time to regain his feet and make a token strike back at her.

She blocked it with ease, but he couldn't help but feel he'd surprised her somewhat with his cunning and ingenuity and the utter foolhardy audacity that the move took to execute.

Several exchanges later, they tangled swords and she used the opportunity to kick him in the shins, sending him crumpling down. While he was still prone of the floor, she struck. He got his blade up, just in time. She pulled back slightly and he stumbled to his feet.

Kev had fought all types when he was in the Fighter's Collegium. He'd trained with and fought against lowly street fighters from humble origins and those whose blood was blue enough to make them practically royalty. But no matter the walk of life, there was a personal code of honor which all silently vowed to uphold. The blade governed their lives by whom it chose to take.

There _was_ no hand-to-hand combat within the arena. That Featherfire had kicked him at all was enough to send him into a near catatonic state as his mind attempted to rationalize what it knew with what he had felt.

In his thoughts, he was too slow to get his blade up to block another attack and received a stinging swat on his side for his troubles, followed by a double roundhouse kick that sent him staggering back, senses clouded.

His numb fingers resolutely refused to drop the blade he held, but if instinct hadn't been working, the metal would have slid from his hand long ago.

He waited, tense, for the final blow to fall, still dazed out of all proportion to the fight Featherfire had supplied him with.

A hand tugged at his blade. He released it to whomever it was, glassy eyes simply staring ahead of himself, seeing nothing. Then there was a hand on his shoulder and a voice.

Rough and deep, the voice called him out of himself and he forgot for a moment that he had lost, forgot long enough to look up and meet Featherfire's dark eyes.

"I take it you're not used to street fighting," the weaponsmaster commented wryly. "Judging by the look on your face, it must have been one hell of a surprise for me to kick you. I apologize for that. I wasn't quite sure if your relative inaction was faked or not, at least at first."

When Kev didn't answer, Featherfire shook him gently. "Speak to me," she commanded.

Kev opened his mouth to croak out, "Yes, sir."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "It's obvious you need a run-down in hand-to-hand, but your swordsmanship is nigh imperfectable. I've never seen anyone execute a move like that; you'll be teaching that sometime, make no doubt of it.

"So, it'll be plain weapons in the evenings for you," she continued, "but hand-to-hand each morning until you're competent enough to interlace them like I did. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Then stand up, stretch out and walk the length and breadth of the salle a few times as a cool down." She stood up in one fluid motion.

Keighven watched her, then pushed himself to his feet. His body was trembling, partly with overexertion of a sort and partly still in shock.

_:Are you all right?:_ Gryphon asked. He sounded concerned.

_:I'll be fine,_: Kev growled back, his voice lacking its usual bite. _:I'm just tired, is all.: _

_:And suffering frostbite, dehydration, lack of sleep, shifter's shock - : _the Companion added, his mind voice heavy with sarcasm.

_:Don't fall over dead, Keighven, or I'll pound you into the earth. Twice.:_

Keighven declined to answer. Truth to tell, he wasn't feeling very stong at the moment at all. His whole body felt the way he usually did after a tenth bout.

_But I only fought twice…_ his mind argued. Though, his warm-up with Joselyn had easily been the length of a regular duel for him, and the one right after with Featherfire had been perhaps twice as long, and requiring of all his ingenuity and physical abilities.

_I over-taxed myself,_ he ruefully admitted to himself.

_:Thought so.:_

* * *

Joselyn was rather subdued on the way back up to the Collegium. 

Kev attempted to ask Gryphon about it, but the Companion didn't answer. Finally, when the silence became unbearably uncomfortable, Keighven decided to do something about it.

"the silence is beginning to sound louder than words," he remarked offhandedly, pointedly _not_ looking in Joselyn's direction. If she took the hint…

She did.

"I'm sorry, it's just –" She cut off, looking a tad bit confused.

"Just what?" he questioned.

"Well, I'm doing a lot of things right now, between duties to the Circle, family and myself. There just doesn't seem to be enough _time_ for it all," she concluded wistfully.

Kev laughed. "There's always enough time," he argued. "Oft as not, too _much_ time. The trick is to find it."

"Oh?" So she was skeptical? Good.

"Most time is taken up with less important matters. Sometimes these matters are such that they seem impossible to go without, but often times, all the little specks of boredom coloring the day are bits of time waiting to be forcibly assembled into a masterpiece work of time. "

Joselyn raised an eyebrow. "that was almost too eloquent to have coming from your lips."

Keighven chuckled. "Then good it is, that it was not from me whence the idea came, na?"

Jos nodded, her steps slowing a bit as she looked thoughtfully at the ground.

"I can't pretend it doesn't help a bit," she finally admitted. "Not that I'm going to enjoy cutting back on my worldly pleasure of reading, mind, but if I can take that candlemark just before bed… I think you have something there, Keighven. "

"Then it is well I mentioned it, yes? And I believe you have tasks now that be opposite in direction of mine," he concluded when they reached a split hallway.

Joselyn nodded and turned to trot down one of the longer halls at a brisk pace. More sedately, Kev proceeded down another hall, stopping to peer into the empty rooms.

_:That was an interesting conversation,:_ Gryphon said quietly into the back of his mind while he peeked into a deserted room.

_:How so?" _

_:You're acting like a Monarch's Own Herald,: _Gryphon said, still sounding strangely subdued.

_:A what?: _the unfamiliar title caught Kev's attention and he paused in his inspection.

_:Monarch's Own,:_ Gryphon repeated patiently. _:He or she provides an honest opinion for the Monarch so that no King or Queen of Valdemar ever goes without having at least one true friend. It's a very important position.: _

_:And you think I sound like one of these Monarch's Own people?: _

_:There's only ever one Monarch's Own at a time, and yes, I think you're acting like one. That exchange between you and Joselyn – very neatly handled if I do say so myself.: _

_:Why are you telling me this? Am I not supposed to do that type of thing?: _

_:Good havens – that wasn't what I meant!: _Gryphon exclaimed. _:It's just -: _he hesitated, as if unsure of whether to reveal hidden information.

_:Spit it out, Gryphon,: _Kev growled through the mind link.

_:It's just that part of the reason Kyrith was so worried about Justyn's disappearance was because he was certain Justyn would be the next Monarch's Own after Randall.: _

_:Is Randall old then/" _Kev asked, wondering what possible difference it could make.

_:Well, no,: _Gryphon admitted. _:But he's prone to sickness and there've been one or two close calls with his health already. Not to mention that because Justyn is Randall's brother, his emotional well-being is all tied up. It's a complex mess. I wish Kyrith had thought about it before he Chose Randall, but I guess there weren't any other candidates around who fit the job description.: _

_:Job description?" _Now Kev was lost. He'd followed Gryphon's rant pretty well, until the part about Kyrith Choosing Randall and a lack of candidates with suitable qualifications.

_:The Monarch's Own is drawn to the imbalanced, to fix that balance within them. He or she has a sort of other-worldly connection with an ability to set minds at rest. A true people person.: _

_:And now you think _I'm_ going to be Monarch's Own? Just because of my small talk with Joselyn?: _It seemed too strange a concept to grasp.

_:That's not all.: _Gryphon sounded a little embarrassed. _:I'm not _precisely_ sure what a true Choosing is supposed to feel like, but I'm pretty sure that you and I aren't anything like a usual pairing.: _

_:You aren't making sense,: _Keighven interrupted.

Gryphon seemed to be struggling to find words to explain something. Keighven returned to his explorations as he waited for the Companion to address him.

_:Well, the whole notion of a Companion's Choice is that a spot is filled – a vacancy becomes occupied inside someone. I knew I _had_ to Choose you, Keighven, and believe me, I really care for you very much, but somehow I doubt that this bond is _typical.:

_:There doesn't seem to be anything filled that was empty before,:_ Keighven finished thoughtfully. He felt like his legs and arms had become lead. What did this revelation mean for him?

_:Exactly,: _Gryphon concluded with a sigh. _:Which means that most likely, if you're still around when Randall dies, you'll be Chosen by Kyrith and be the Monarch's Own.: _

_:What about this Justyn fellow?:_ Kev inquired.

_:I'm not sure Justyn will be around when Randall goes,: _Gryphon answered. _:It seems to me that the daredevil in him has requested that both he and Fedor take off like a streak of lightning, never to be heard from again. Disappearing Heralds aren't all that common, but I won't say it's never happened.: _

Keighven felt slightly ill.

_:Well, don't just stand around,: _Gryphon barked, resetting to his more usual self. _:You've got classes in less than ten minutes, so I suggest you find where it is you're supposed to be and get there!: _

Keighven did as he was told, but his mind refused to concentrate on the lesson, so absorbed was he in all the implications of what Gryphon had said.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, there's the major secret of the story, out already... ::sigh:: You know, I almost wish I was a better secret keeper. Then I could write mysteries and people would actually like them...  
I think Misty explained somewhere about a Companion's Choice of a new Monarch's Own to be a compulsary Choice rather than a true Choosing. Make any sense? 0.o  
Quote taken from _Magic's Promise_ by Mercedes Lackey, pg 188, paperbound edition copyrighted 1990. 


	6. New Herald

Chapter six, and I think there are two chapters left to this. _Maybe_ three if people don't mind odd breaks and kinda short chapters. Anywho, here's chappie six!

* * *

The days began to pass faster, until they blurred into weeks and the weeks blurred into months. Then a year had passed, and another. Keighven found himself well adjusted to living in the Herald's world.

Even if he never forgot the discussion he'd had with Gryphon in his first week at the Collegium, he didn't dwell on it.

Justyn and Fedor had returned, much to the relief of the Collegium, collectively. Upon their arrival about two months into his first year, Keighven had _felt_ the atmosphere of the Collegium lighten. The Heralds who had all been holding their breaths now breathed freely again.

It made such a difference, Keighven wondered that he hadn't felt it before.

In his second year, midterm, he heard the Death Bell toll for the first time. He'd known _some_thing had changed, but not what. To his eternal distress, a distraught Joselyn had been weeping in the hallway outside his rooms.

She'd looked so upset – he couldn't have resisted helping her if he'd wanted to.

As it turned out, her uncle Lance, the Senchenal's Herald had been the one to die. As Joselyn had pointed out a while later to him, it had been an easier death than most to bear. He'd died of old age instead of foul play.

The new Senchnal was a precocious young Herald-Mage by the name of Silver. Kev never discovered the young man's surname, but after his first glimpse of the mage, he knew that "Silver" was a perfectly accurate identification for him.

Ashkevron blood, people had said, whatever that meant. Silver was a particular oddity in who had Chosen him. A pair of lifebonded Companions had selected the young mage-in-training. If that weren't enough, he'd reached Adept status by sixteen.

Ashkevron blood, people whispered, as if that explained everything.

* * *

_:Ready?: _

"As ready as I'll ever be," Keighven answered grimly. He was seated bareback on Gryphon, his grey uniform drenched with sweat.

_:Here I go, then.: _

That was all the warning Kev got before the Companion launched himself into the obstacle course, running it without a care for the human perched so precariously on his back.

When the whirlwind ride was over, Keighven's legs burned, and his arms felt like lead sinkers pulling him towards the ground.

_:How'd that one feel?: _Gryphon asked, craning his head around to fix Kev with the stare from a large, blue eye.

"Like I lost my bones somewhere between the crawling point and the part when you were crow-hopping like a _Shin'a'in_ warhorse," Kev replied with a groan, and a grimly humorous smile.

He knew he needed to learn to ride better. Gryphon was a phenomenally gifted babysitter, but what he really hoped to accomplish was learning how to stay on board when all of the Companion's attention was focused elsewhere.

The obstacle course gave that to him, mostly. The only glitch was that Gryphon already _knew_ most of the course so he didn't have to think about it as much and consequently spent much more concentration keeping Keighven in the saddle.

Which _wasn't_ the point of the exercise.

Keighven knew he _meant_ well, but he wanted to have the satisfaction of true skill for himself. It was a point he couldn't seem to get Gryphon to agree with him on.

_:Do you want to do it one more time?:_ Gryphon's ears were pricked forward, and he seemed to be a boundless ball of energy. All the Companions of Keighven's year mates had been older than ten at the date of the Choosing – Gryphon had turned ten the day he demanded to be tacked up and sent out. So Keighven, as the oldest of his year mates, had the youngest Companion. It showed, especially on the obstacle course.

"I'm not sure my body can handle one more pounding, Gryphon," Keighven admitted, swinging down off the Companion's bare back. His legs almost didn't support him when he came down.

_:Well, how about some food then? I like hot oats.: _

"You shameless creature," Keighven taunted. "And what would you do without me then?"

_:Make the stable boys give me some, of course.:_

Keighven threw his hands up in defeat and then followed Gryphon to the Companion's stable to ready a meal. While Gryphon was munching away, he slipped off to be alone for a while.

Peace and tranquility were difficult to find sometimes, with all the hustle and bustle of Collegium life.

His was mid-meditation when a hand on his shoulder pulled him out of it. He looked up to see Joselyn's face. She wasn't around much anymore because of her circuits, but whenever she was, she made a point of saying hello.

"The Senchenal's Herald is looking for you."

Keighven blinked. That wasn't quite the greeting he'd been expecting. "Where and why?"

"In Lance's old office and I don't know."

Keighven pushed himself to his feet. "Is it urgent?"

"Well, a _little,_" Joselyn said, her eyes twinkling maddeningly.

Kev thought quickly but could reach no conclusion as to why the Senchenal's Herald would want to see him.

Joselyn gave him a hug and a quick peck on the cheek before letting him go.

He shook his head, slightly bemused.

The half-Gates that connected various parts of the Collegium came in handy at times like this. Keighven used one to get into the Collegium itself and then wound his way through the intricate labyrinth that led to the Senchenal's office.

Once outside that, he simply stared at it for a long time, as if trying to memorize the pattern of the wood. Finally, he put up his hand and banged on it. The echo was hollow and distant.

Slowly the door inched open, and the figure of a young man in Heraldic Whites became visible.

Silver, as he was so aptly named, fit the Whites as perfectly as anyone. The fabric brought a contrast to the cascading waterfall of silver hair that (probably) gave him his name. Even his eyes were a sharp, silver-blue, set in a face of alabaster stone.

The edges of his lips quirked upwards slightly.

"So nervous Keighven? You don't have to be. You've passed your exams for full Herald. An Internship assignment on one of the far borders is waiting for you. Originally Satyrian was going to be your mentor, but as he is currently nursing a broken leg, the Circle agreed to have me act as your counselor, strange as the combination might seem."

Strange indeed. The youngest Herald paired with the oldest Herald Trainee. A coincidence? Perhaps, though Keighven privately thought it to be a rude gesture of fate.

"When do we leave?" he asked politely, accepting the white uniform Silver offered to him.

"I plan to build a Gate to get there, so not until late this week, or early next."

Keighven nodded. He would have a lot of preparation to do, then, even with the extra time.

* * *

He made it up to his room without running into anyone which he counted as no small blessing. While carrying the Whites, he felt rather similar to a thief.

After changing into them, he studied his reflection in the mirror he'd installed the previous spring. Keighven couldn't help but be amazed at the change wrought by the new uniform.

It made him look distinguished and powerful in a quiet way. Like someone people could trust their lives to.

Someone who would always do what duty required because it _was_ duty.

In short, he looked every inch a Herald, and took tremendous pride in that. He would have stayed there longer, admiring his own reflection had the lunch bell not tolled, calling the whole of the Herald's Collegium to the dining hall for the midday meal.

* * *

Author's Note: OMG - it looks like I pulled one of those timewarp thingies that everyone hates author's using! Please don't hurt me! As to Silver, my fave cherry of all time, he's my own brain-child, though he _does_ - as I said, or rather, had people say for me - have ties to the all-powerful LHM. And as for his Companions, they're not really mine... Well, I'll explain next chapter I think. For now, go looking through your history books for famous lifebondeds! 


	7. The Vanishing Breed

Chapter seven and this is the last 'official' chapter. I have to type up the epilogue and post it, but other than that, this fic is mostly finished. Thanks to everyone who read it!

* * *

"You got made a full Herald?" Jem sounded impressed. Two years had put muscled onto his wiry frame, and deepened his voice. If Gryphon's gossip was right, Jem was one of the tyrannical assistants to Featherfire, and all line up to become a full Herald himself in another year or two.

"How could you tell?" Kev asked, his eyes wide in mock surprise.

Jem tapped his own forehead and grinned. "I've got ways of knowing things when a new set of Whites isn't a dead giveaway."

Keighven laughed. Jem joined him.

When the banter had played itself out, Kev asked a bit more serious line of questions.

"Where's Nadav?"

Jem looked a little worried. "He's out in the Companion's field right about this time of day, every day. The Companions don't mind an extra two-legger foal with them and the stable lads sure don't complain about an extra pair of hands to help with chores. Why?"

Kev shrugged. He wasn't altogether certain himself what had prompted the question on his part. "Just curious, I guess. I haven't seen much of him since I first came here."

"And you won't," Jem added in. "He's taken to being a shadow on the Companion's field. Some of the Heralds say he's more of their ilk than of human." Jem frowned a bit. "But if that's true, why won't any of them Choose him?" he cried out.

His voice dripped anguish and confusion.

It was plain to Keighven that Jem wanted the best life possible for his brother and had figured that life as a Herald was the best it got.

"I don't know," Kev answered solemnly. It was times like these when he felt Gryphon attentively listening in the back of his mind. Times like these, when he felt as though he was being judged against an unknown scale and found wanting in some way.

Since this was about Companions though…

_:Gryphon?: _

_:Yes?: _

_:Do you have any ideas why Jem's brother, Nadav hasn't been Chosen? Pure speculation will do for now if you don't have a concrete answer, but Jem seems to be rather frustrated with the answers Kadin has been giving him.:_ There was a pause and an absence in the back of his mind for a brief moment, then Gryphon returned.

_:Nadav will never be Chosen,: _Gryphon reported, _:unless overwhelming need demands it. The lad is going to be Healer trained shortly, though. He's been a mind-Healer to several traumatized Companions already.:_

"Huh." Kev looked at Jem who had been waiting for his conversation with Gryphon to conclude.

"What?" the young man asked, perhaps a tad bit more sharply than intended.

Kev grimaced a bit. He hated being the bearer of bad news.

"Nadav never will be Chosen," he said, holding up a hand to forestall any arguments Jem might have put up. "I have it on very good authority from Gryphon. The only reason is that he'll be much more useful as a mind-Healer. He's already been doing mind-healer's work on Companions in the Field."

Jem looked surprised. "On Companions?"

Kev nodded.

"I never suspected…So that's why he spends so much bloody time with them! Here I was, thinking he was pining away after the notion of being a Herald, and really he's helping keep our other halves sane. Remarkable."

Jem sounded so much older than his mere sixteen years. So adult…

"Why wouldn't Kadin tell me, then?" Not an accusation, but a humbling plea for understanding.

"I'm not sure," Kev answered. "Gryphon is much more open with me than any other Companion seems to be with their Heralds. It might be that he's the only one privy to sensitive information, or it's possible he's the leak in an otherwise impenetrable system."

_:I heard that.: _

_:You were meant to.: _

"Or maybe he's got permission to be spilling secrets in your ear," Jem mused.

Before Keighven could reply, Jem was an excitable child again, and out the door lest he be late for weapons practice.

_:What should I be bringing?:_ Keighven asked Gryphon, toying with a crust of bread left over from his meal. He didn't particularly want to return to his room just yet, but it was good to have an idea of what he might need so he could request items from Supply in advance.

_:All Whites,: _Gryphon answered promptly. _:Extra soap, lots of blankets, a pair of fluffy pillows, sewing kit, basic leatherwork kit, trial rations, maybe something musical to do if you get bored in spare time. Hmn…:_ He seemed to be thinking. _:Letter writing materials, I suppose, if you plan on writing to the people around here. Marti would be thrilled to get a letter from you. So would Joselyn, if she's here to get it before you return.: _

_:That's it?:_ It didn't sound like much, but Kev also had a feeling that putting it all together would make for a disastrously large pack. _:I thought we were going circuits – you know, the whole 'travel light' bit?: _

_:That is traveling light,:_ Gryphon argued. _:We're going to be on the road for about a year and a quarter – the usual stint is a year and a half, but Silver's Gates can keep us from the extra road time. There will _be_ villages, towns – we can get what we need from them. It's different for special Messengers. Thank the gods your not one of those. _They_ redefine what light travel is.: _

_:Oh?: _

_:Try surviving for two weeks with nothing more than your belt purse, a set of twenty or so arrows, a bow and your Companion.: _

Keighven blinked. He couldn't imagine it, though there had been times in his life, far ago and long away, when he supposed he _could_ have done that.

_:They sound superhuman,: _he commented, rising to exit the dining hall.

_:Not quite superhuman,:_ Gryphon replied, _:but very nearly. They need Companions with exceptional speed and endurance, which is why you're not a Messenger. You're just a plain old Herald who risks his life in stupid ways every other day.: _

_:As opposed to every other candlemark?: _Kev grinned into that.

_:If you're done eating, you should get down to Supply before the wait gets long. There are quite a few Internees getting ready to leave by the end of this week.: _

_:Will do. Thanks for the heads-up.: _Taking Gryphon's advice, Keighven pushed out of his seat and headed down for Supply. A few other White-Clad strangers followed him, chatting casually with each other. He ignored them.

"What do you need?" The middle-aged woman behind the desk put Keighven in mind of Featherfire right away. Her brusque demeanor was the same as that of the slowly aging weapons teacher.

"I'm leaving for a circuit at the end of this week," Kev said. "It's my first time out, but –"

"Aha, newbie." The woman grinned. "So, where are ye goin' an' who be yer mentor then, laddie?"

"The Kleimer region, and Silver."

The woman's eyes went wide. "Silver's t'be takin' ye, then? Well, I'll be. An' him jest a wee little mite, hisself. Huh. Well, you be takin' care o' him, then, Herald. I don't care how damn high in rank he is – _you're_ still _his_ senior in years and worldly experience. Don't let him be a hot-headed fool. Damn Ashkevron blood breeds true."

Keighven blinked. "Is that it then?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. We'll 'ave yer kit ready before the last day o' the week, don' ye worry."

Kev thanked her and disappeared back outside to the light blazing hallways.

He didn't have anything else to do for the rest of today… Featherfire had taught him everything he needed to know about hand-to-hand combat and integrating it with sword work. He had no peer in the arena – or the salle, rather. There were no depressed minds calling to him.

All he had to look forward to was a year and a half – maybe less – of travel on a circuit with a virtual stranger. Well, he could always find Gryphon and ask him about the Mage-Herald…

_:Gryphon – are you too busy for a talk and a grooming?: _

_:Never!: _the Companion answered cheerfully. _:I'll meet you in my stall and we can talk as long as you care to brush _ _me._

_:Vain creature.: _

_:You're the one who offered,: _Gryphon pointed out.

_:So I did. All right, I'll meet you there.: _

Keighven made his way across the Collegium grounds to the Companion's Field and from there to the lean-to that served as shelter. On his way in, he made sure to snag a currycomb and a soft brush to use on Gryphon.

The stallion was waiting for him in one of the big box stalls, eagerly swishing his tail.

_:What did you want to talk about?: _he asked as Keighven set to work currying his coat.

_:Silver, and this Internship.:_ There wasn't really a need to beat around the bush, after all.

Gryphon leaned into the curry comb. _:Right there – yes. Now what did you want to know about Silver?:_

"Everything, I guess," Keighven muttered. "I only know he's a Herald-Mage, he's adept class, chosen by two Companions and he's around seventeen." He paused to clean the currycomb. "What I don't know… I don't know his Companions' names, I don't know who he's friendly with, what people mean when they refer to him as Ashkevron blood…"

_:To answer the last first,_: Gryphon cut in, _:Silver is a descendant of Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, which is what everyone means when they refer to Ashkevron blood. You've heard of Herald-Mage Elspeth and the _Tayledras_ Mage Darkwind?:_

Keighven_ had _come across the names in his history studies.

_:Silver is descended from those two, and Elspeth was from Vanyel's bloodline herself. And if you can recall from your truly ancient history studies, Vanyel Demonsbane was as powerful as five full Heralds, all by himself.: _

Keighven was impressed in spite of himself.

"Does it mean anything in particular for him, then?" he wanted to know.

_:Only that he has two exceptionally famous names to live up to. Firesong K'Treva – also one of Vanyel's descendants – was just as powerful a Mage as Vanyel himself and was one of the members of the envoy to the Dhorshia Plains during the repeat Cataclysm.:_ Gryphon paused to stretch his neck. _:You know, you could easily find this information on your own.:_

"I could," Keighven agreed, "but then I wouldn't have a reason to give you an extra currying, would I? Besides, libraries are too confining for me."

_:And a box stall isn't?:_

"You know what I mean. It's easier getting history in plain language from you than from the more detailed history texts."

_:I knew I should have paid more attention in History,:_ Gryphon sighed. _:Woe betide me. What else do you want to know?:_

"How about the names of his Companions?"

_:Sunsinger and Shadowdancer.: _

"No, really."

Gryphon horse-grinned sheepishly. _:Sundance and Aren.: _

Keighven thought for a long moment, trying to recall if he'd ever seen either one of them. Usually he could remember Companions, their names and their Heralds, but on these two he was drawing a blank.

"I don't think I know them," he admitted finally.

_:I'd have been surprised if you did. Sundance and Aren don't actually stay in the Field with the rest of us. Most of the time they're holed up in the special place near the Mage's Collegium that Silver built for them.:_

"What about this foray off into the middle of nowhere? I mean, the Kleimer region _is_ awfully near Hardorn."

Gryphon blew bubbles in his water pail.

_:I don't _think_ it will matter overmuch,:_ he said finally. _:The land is mostly healed. Ancar raped it, but it's been close to a century since then. Not that you'll ever get _Tayledras_ to agree that land can heal that fast, but I don't think it's a danger any longer.:_

Keighven put down the currycomb and picked up the soft brush, running the soothing bristles over Gryphon's neck and chest. The Companion made little whiffings of approval and his eyes half-closed.

"I still can't seem to stop thinking about Silver," Keighven growled half a mark later.

Gryphon didn't even open his eyes. _:In a romantic-obsessive fashion or just obsessive?:_ he inquired.

"Neither. Just plain curiosity. Oddities attract that, sometimes, and even you have to admit Silver's as odd as they come.:

Gryphon yawned. _:If I tell you a story, do you think it'll distract you long enough to forget them?:_

"Maybe."

_:What do you want to hear about?:_

Keighven thought. "How about the Mage of Silence?"

Gryphon growled. _:You know my memory is faulty anywhere past a thousand years. Choose someone more – recent.: _

Keighven laughed. "How about you choose one of the old Monarch's Owns and tell me about him ore her?" he offered.

_:Perfect. I can tell you about Talia. She was Chosen by Rolan at thirteen and she came from the old Holderkin lands…:_

Keighven was impressed at Gryphon's grasp of the past in certain areas. He told the story of Talia so vividly that Keighven felt he was there.

* * *

_:And that,:_ Gryphon concluded,_ :was Talia's first year at the Collegium.:_

Kev's mouth dropped open.

"Only her first year?" he exclaimed. "It sounded like so much more than that…:

Gryphon snorted. _:Yes, only her first year. It took her that damn long to feel even remotely accepted. Pity, really. I think she could have been incredibly powerful much earlier if she'd opened up sooner – but then she wouldn't have been Talia, I guess.: _

"You sound like you know her," Kev commented. "Or _knew_ her."

The Companion snorted. _:Don't be ridiculous – she's been dead for nearly ten times _my_ lifetime. And four or five times yours, as well,:_ he added, analyzing Kev with one big, blue eye.

"I didn't say you _did,_" Kev pointed out. "Just that you sounded like you may have."

Gryphon softened a bit. _:I'm a little bit of an addict for certain pages of history,:_ he admitted, _:but in general the concept eludes me. I can remember and identify with _people,_ but giant masses like the Tedrels are beyond _ _me._

Keighven nodded. "I think I know what you mean." He paused, looking at Gryphon's perfect, untangled mane.

"Gryphon, do you mind if I braid up your mane and tail?"

The Companion seemed temporarily at a loss. He sidled back, away from Keighven and looked at him suspiciously. _:Whyfore?:_

Keighven shrugged. "Thought you'd want to be looking your best for a change. A fancy parade style for your mane, a fishtail plait for your tail…" He glanced critically at the Companion's hooves. "Although I could see ignoring a new coat of hoof paint."

Gryphon snorted. _:I should _think_ so!: _he exclaimed, only a trifle indignant. _:Well, if you promise not to make me look too silly, I suppose you can – decorate – _ _me._

"Excellent. Wait here." Keighven dashed out of the room and scooped up a bag he'd left in the tack shed when he first arrived. He'd been hoping for a chance to deck Gryphon out like a parade mount from when he'd still been in the Fighter's Collegium down south in the no man's land where Holderkin had once lived.

Uglyn nags ranging from dul grey to motely shades of brown had all been transformed by their handlers for the opening of some of the more prestigious Trials by Sword.

There were a few tricks Keighven had picked up, and he'd had the thought of trying them on Gryphon for some time now…

Gryphon eyed the bag with slight distaste.

_:Remind me again why I'm letting you do this.:_

"Because if you feel you look terrible, I'll regroom you back to your shiny silver self. Deal?"

The stallion whuffled softly. _:Deal,:_ he agreed.

Keighven knelt to open the sack and dragged out fiery satin cords, all thin as air. Carefully, he separated Gryphon's forelock into eight even sections and began braiding the red satin into the first section, twining it around the thee parts of the braid. The living, glowing _whiteness_ of Gryphon's mane brought out a similar fiery essence in the cord.

He went through the rest of the Companion's forelock in the same manner.

The rest of the mane seemed to be a more challenging effort for him. He couldn't very well cut Gryphon's mane after all!

_:Try and I'll kick you into next week.: _

So, there remained only one option. Again he set about dividing the Companion's mane into small sections for braiding, but instead of using the red cord _in_ them, he wound them into little nubs along Gryphon's crest – balls of scarlet that flickered with a life of their own.

The mane was the hardest and longest to do. In comparison, the multi-layered fishtailing of Gryphon's tail was therapeutically simple. He wrapped off the end with a scarlet rope and stood back to survey his handiwork.

The regal Companion seemed to be a spirit of fire, rather than of ice now.

He grinned and reached into his bag to pull out another thing – a full set of barding in the exact colors of a full Bard's blood red.

If Gryphon were human, his mouth would have dropped to his knees in a dumbstruck expression. As it was, he looked very surprised.

_:I can't wear that!:_ he exclaimed.

"Why not?" Keighven asked with a grin. "If we're not traveling, we're not on duty, and you could go around in rainbows for all anyone would care. Red suits you, and I'll be damned if I know why."

Gryphon seemed to be thinking. _:It _is_ lovely,:_ he growled. _:Put it on me before I change my mind.:_

Keighven chuckled and complied, amazed at how simple it was to get the barding in place. There wasn't a halter, or even a hackamore, but really the presence of one would have ultimately detracted from Gryphon's fierce magnificence.

"Let's go outside," Keighven suggested. He _had_ thought about painting patterns with red ochre on Gryphon's flanks to wind down his hind legs like the living canvases back home, but he rather doubted the stallion would have appreciated it.

_:What are you holding?:_ Gryphon asked instead.

"Paint," Keighven answered, kneeling to put it away. "I was going to do a rendition of a phoenix climbing up your flanks, but I'm not sure you need it. You _do_ look magnificent."

_:Do it.:_

Keighven looked up. "What?"

_:Do it. It won't last more than a few marks anyway.: _

He stood and dipped his fingers into the red, then proceeded to do a fiery rendition of the eternal bird being reborn. The shape matched Gryphon's muscle pattern so that when he moved, the phoenix appeared to be fluttering its wings in the flickering flames.

_:Well, does it look terrible?:_ Gryphon wanted to know when Keighven just stood there, staring at his handiwork.

"Not at all," the Herald-Internee assured him. "Want to go out now?"

Gryphon dipped his head. _:I feel like rearing a few times in the open and declaring what I dangerous beastie I am,: _he announced before trotting out past Keighven into the Field.

Keighven tucked the sack into the corner, feeling a little tired. A ringing cry outside woke him up and he sprinted outside to see what the fuss was.

Gryphon was on his hind legs, making a spectacle of himself, rearing against the backdrop of a blood red sunset. A few white blots Keighven guessed were Heralds were running in the direction of the Field, presumably to discover the nature of the disturbance.

_:Before you scare everyone to the Havens and back - :_ Keighven began, but a sharp squeal from Gryphon cut him short. A clap of thunder overhead made him start, and suddenly there was a strange disturbance in the currents of the air near them.

Gryphon's hoof struck it. He made an odd noise, similar to a squelched squeal and disappeared. Without a second though, Keighven dove after him, straight into the biggest upheaval of his life.

* * *

Author's Note: The [Almost End - stick around for the very end, coming up soon in epilogue form! 


	8. Epilogue

Well, here's the epilogue. It's the last actual chapter in this story, but in a while I'll put up all the characters I borrowed from Misty, with whatever background I think needs telling about them. There were a LOT of borrowed cherries in this here ficlet. So, I'm proud of myself - the writing word count for this totals 19570 words and I'm very amazed to say that all of it was handwritten before it ever hit the computer screen. Okay, enough bragging - here's the epilogue.

* * *

"What do you mean he's gone?" Joselyn demanded. "How could he just disappear?"

Silver rubbed at his temples. Her Majesty, the Queen Sophya was watching him with a sharp gaze, as if she wished to known the answer to that question as much as Joselyn did.

"There was a Gate built," the young Herald-Adept tried to explain. "I can get the signature for you, but without having suspects for me to try that signature against, it won't do a lot of good."

"Do we know _where_ he was whisked off to?" the Queen asked in her quiet, dangerous voice.

Silver shook his head regretfully. "It's impossible to know," he answered, his voice dull. He wondered if _this_ was how Vanyel had felt with all the other Herald-Mages around him being killed off, one by one. As if the world had suddenly disappeared out from under his feet.

"The Gate could have come from anywhere, have been set by anyone – Keighven and Gryphon might not have even been the intended targets." His eyes grew dark and his heart hard as he looked up.

"We haven't heard the Death Bell toll," Joselyn growled at him.

Silver shrugged. "You know as well as I that there are ways to block a Herald's death."

"But not a Companion's!"

"If what my Aren has told me is true, Keighven could have been killed without Gryphon dying. "

"Explain," the Queen ordered sharply.

Silver bowed a little. "Forgive me, your Majesty. Keighven and Gryphon are not bound in the traditional sense of a Choice, according to my Aren. If this is indeed true, then with Keighven's passing, Gryphon's will not be linked. One _can_ die without the other."

Queen Sophya nodded. She knew better than to contradict one of the Companions, though her Beryl often insisted she did _that_ on a regular basis.

"Then, Herald Silver, I charge you with the discovery – to the best of your ability – of what has become of Herald-Intern Keighven and the Companion Gryphon. Joselyn, I also have a special job for you."

Joselyn did not look pleased by this, but she did not contradict Sophya.

"I need you to take the circuit Silver and Keighven would have ridden," the Queen said, watching Joselyn's face crumple. "I'm sorry," she added softly. "I know this isn't what you want to be doing, but we _need_ someone out at Cebu Pass right away, and you are the only one who hasn't either just gotten in or is injured. Please, Joselyn," Sophya added, a touch of urgency in her voice.

Joselyn nodded, a tight mask sweeping onto her face, wiping it clear of all emotions. Rendering her little better than an animated body, in Sophya's opinion, but she knew all Joselyn needed was to get back out on circuit to wake up to what was required of her.

"Silver, can you build a Gate for Herald Joselyn to make it to Cordor? Even if she leaves today, she'll be quite late in getting to her post."

The Herald-Mage inclined his head. "I shall, your Majesty. When do you require one?"

"You planned on leaving tomorrow?"

Silver nodded.

"Then you may keep to the schedule and build one tomorrow for Herald Joselyn." The Queen nodded and stood. All were dismissed.

Silver was the last one to leave. As she watched him go, she mindtouched her Companion.

_:Will things ever be the same again?:_ she asked wistfully. To her surprise, Beryl answered her.

_:Were things ever the same to begin with?:_

* * *

Author's Note: The END! (I've always wanted to say that.)


	9. Cast of Characters

Cast of Characters (In My Story):

* * *

**Alex:** The younger of Keighven's twin brothers. 

**Aren (Companion):** The reborn Shadowdancer, Aren is lifebonded to Sundance and Companion to Herald Silver.

**Beryl:** Companion to Queen Sophya.

**Bonden, Lord:** Illegally owned gladiators in the borderlands where Keighven was originally from. Supposedly lived in Valdemar for a time before being banished for untold reasons.

**Braedon:** The elder of Keighven's twin brothers.

**Devon:** Keighven's older brother. He was five years Keighven's senior.

**Dominick(Companion):** Companion to Joselyn.

**Featherfire (Herald):** A _Tayledras_ of k'Valdemar and the armsmistress of the Heraldic Trainees.

**Fedor (Companion):** Companion to Justyn.

**Garth:** Self-appointed leader of the escaping group of gladiators from the borderlands. He knew about Waystations and Heralds.

**Gryphon (Companion):** Chose Keighven but is not officially bound to him. Jem comments that he is the trouble-maker of the Companion herd.

**Jem (Herald Trainee):** A Firestarter and Mindspeaker Chosen by Kadin. Gryphon remarked that he was a strong fighter. Keighven offered to bout against him. Jem has a younger brother, Nadav. He is the son of Monarch's Own Herald Randall.

**Jenna (Companion):** Companion to Senchenal's Herald Lance.

**Jet:** A small prizefighter who escaped from the Fighter's Collegium in Keighven's group. Keighven recognized him as belonging to Lord Raedlin.

**Joselyn (Herald):** Half Shin'a'in, Joselyn was Keighven's mentor during his first few weeks as a Herald Trainee.

**Justyn (Herald):** Chosen by Fedor, Justyn was the Herald investigating the claims of gladiatorism in the borderlands. His appearance sparked a mini-riot and resulted in Keighven's escape to Valdemar. Gryphon noted he was an excellent hand with the sword. Brother to the current Monarch's Own, Herald Randall.

**Kayla (Companion):** Companion to Satyrian.

**Kadin (Companion):** Companion to Herald Trainee Jem. One of the better fighters in the Companion's herd.

**Keighven (Herald):** Originally a gladiator in the borderlands before being Chosen by Gryphon. Keighven had small difficulties at first adapting to the change in his life. A born fighter by nature, Keighven made his way through the Collegium in two years. His Gifts are Fetching, Mindspeech and Empathy.

**Kyrith (Companion):** Companion to Monarch's Own Herald Randall. Often worried about Randall's brother, Justyn.

**Lance (Herald):** The late Senchenal's Herald chosen by Jenna. He was Joselyn's uncle and died of natural causes during Keighven's training as a Herald.

**Marti (Healer):** A bright young Healer in the town Gryphon first brought Keighven to. She had created quite a sensation by achieving her Greens so early. She promised Keighven they would see each other when she came to Haven.

**Nadav:** Younger brother to Jem. Nadav served as a page in the palace. His father is Monarch's Own Herald Randall. He is mute.

**Nanotak:** Ran the gladiator matches in the borderlands. He also ran betting on the matches and traded in slaves.

**Nathaniel, Lord:** One of the lords of the borderlands who illegally own gladiators. Keighven fought one of Nathaniel's fighters.

**Raedlin, Lord:** A borderland lord, owning illegal gladiators. One of his fighters escaped in the confusion created by a Herald arriving and ended up in Keighven's party.

**Randall (Herald):** The current Monarch's Own Herald, Chosen by Kyrith. Randall is sickly.

**Regen (Companion):** Companion to Featherfire.

**Satyrian (Herald):** Herald-Chronicler Chosen by Kayla. His Gift is Foresight. Satyrian was supposed to be Keighven's mentor on his Internship, but was injured so the job was turned over to Herald Silver.

**Silver (Herald):** A Herald-Adept Chosen by a pair of lifebonded Companions and also the Senchenal's Herald after Lance's death. Silver is supposed to take Keighven on his Internship after Herald Satyrian's injury. Silver is descended from Vanyel Ashkevron and generally considered an oddity.

**Sophya, Queen (Herald):** Chosen by Beryl. Queen of Valdemar.

**Sonya:** A good friend of Keighven's from when he lived in the borderlands.

**Sundance (Companion):** The reborn Sunsinger, lifebonded to Aren and Companion to Herald Silver.

**Vernos, Lord:** One of the borderland lords who illegally owned gladiators.

* * *

Cast of Characters I Borrowed: 

**Aren (Shadowdancer):** Lythe Shadowdancer was one of a pair of early lifebonded Heralds. Her bondmate was Rothas Sunsinger. _(Arrows)_  
The name I actually used came from 'Arven', Vanyel's daughter by one of Guard-Captain Lissa Ashkevron's shaych guards. _(LHM) _

**Beryl: **A Herald who died during Talia's second year at Court. Her death caused Queen Selenay profound guilt, because she believed she had sent an inexperienced Herald on a fatal mission. _(Arrows)_

**Dominick: **A Herald whose old room at the Palace complex featured a door leading to the garden. It was assigned to Vanyel when he arrived at his Aunt Savil's school for Heraldic trainees. _(LHM) _

**Fedor:** A Herald, his Gift is ForeSight. He was assigned to assist Lord Marshal Weldon at the Karsitefront, speaking for the ForeSeers among the Heralds. _(BB) _

**Garth: **A Sunhawk scout, he was a dark, tiny man, who rode a tall Shin'a'in gelding. An excellent tracker but a lousy archer, helped find a back way into the Jkathan rebels' stronghold. _(Oath)_

**Gryphon (Griffon): **One of Talia's year-mates, his Companion is Harevis. A tall, somber young man, his Gift was FireStarting. In the battle with Hardorn, he used his Gift to turn some of the demon warriors into walking pyres. Then he joined forces with Farseer Davan, Rolan, Talia and Dirk to locate and destroy Prince Ancar's primary mage. He eventually became Herald to the Lord Marshall of Valdemar. _(Arrows, Storm)_

**Jenna:** Companion to Herald Loris, she was confused almost to the point of catatonia on the night when Loris was deluded into believing young Tashir and his new Companion were a murderer and a demon respectively. Yfandes picked up Jenna's horrified panic as far away as Forst Reach and urged Vanyel into going to the rescue. Only after Loris realized what he was doing to Jenna by his brutal behavior did he abandon his attempt to destroy the "demon" Companion Leshya with a whip. _(LHM)_

**Joselyn (Jolene): **Companion of Herald Evan. _(BB) _

**Justyn (Justen):** A Herald-Mage whose Prime Focus stone was aruby. He was part of the Guardian Web in Vanyel's time. _(LHM)_

**Kayla: **The Weaponsmaster at the Collegium during Vanyel's time. _(LHM) _

**Keighven:** Talamir's predecessor as Monarch's Own Herald. _(Arrows) _

**Kyrith: **The original Grove-Born Companion who Chose King Valdemar's Herald in the first days of the special bonding between the magical creatures and the realm's governors. _(Arrows) _

**Lance (Lancir):** He was the Queen's Own Herald to Elspeth the Peacemaker, and was an expert on reading people's inner nature. A Mindhealer, he came through Tylendel's Mage-Gate with Savil and Jaysen on Sovvan-night to try to help with the tragedy Tylendel had caused. Afterward, Lancir and his Companion Taver volunteered to stay behind to deal with the surviving Lesharas. _(LHM)_

**Randall (Randale):** The grandson of Queen Elsepth the Peacemaker, son of Herald-Mage DArvi, King of Valdemar during Vanyel's time. Life-bonded to Healer and Herald Shavri, he slowly succumbed to a long wasting ailment. In the year before Randale's death, his unbearable pain was kept at bay by Bard Stefan's Gift, prolonging his life. Despite his pain, Randale grew from the young boy who assumed the throne unexpectedly after his father's early and unexpected death to become a superb monarch. _(LHM) _

**Regen:** Vanyel's deceased friend from among the Heraldic circle. _(LHM) _

**Satyrian:** Companion to Herald Pol._ (BB)_

**Silver (Kantor): **While Silver the Herald is my brainchild, he was inspired by throwing Kantor into Vanyel's bloodline. _(Arrows, Exile)_

**Sophya (Sofya):** A Herald Courier Vanyel met at an inn on his way to Forst Reach for a vacation. Sofya's Companion is the stallion Gavis. _(LHM)_

**Sundance (Sunsinger): **One of a pair of lifebonded Heralds that fascinated Talia._ (Arrows)_


End file.
